


Resonant Cry

by blehgah



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gang World, Blood, Gen, Guns, Injury, M/M, i'm a squeamish person so don't expect a lot of graphic depictions, of anything really, yknow gang-related stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-09-06 12:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8752360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehgah/pseuds/blehgah
Summary: Seungcheol runs a gang of thirteen members, including himself. Shenanigans ensue.





	1. Act One: Chapter One - Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> all gang terminology, including weapon terminology, is based on GTA (which i haven't played) and other pop culture things like that, so sorry if things don't make any sense.

It’s still dark out when they pull up to the base. Seungcheol is glad; if the sun isn’t up yet, then he should be able to manage a few hours of sleep before he needs to be on his feet again.

Everything seems to be in order: Mingyu’s head bobs as he does a headcount; Soonyoung and Jihoon seem to be communicating without words; and now that Minghao’s attention is no longer on the road, he looks as if he is prepared to throw some choice words at Mingyu.

“Nice driving, as usual,” Seungcheol beams at Mingyu.

Behind the wheel, Mingyu grins and nods in Seungcheol’s direction.

“Thanks, boss,” he says. He thanks Seungcheol every time Seungcheol praises him for driving well, and that is _every_ time he’s behind the wheel, which is almost every time they have a job to do.

Seungcheol doesn’t know what he’d do without Mingyu. Affection surges through his chest, hot and soft and filled with shades of urgency spurred by the dregs of adrenaline and the beginnings of exhaustion. With a grin, Seungcheol claps a heavy hand to Mingyu’s shoulder, and then he’s swinging his legs out of the car.

None of the other members have come out to greet them; Seungcheol takes that as a good sign. He hopes they’re sleeping. A quick glance to his phone informs him that it’s 3:45AM, way too late—or early, depending on how you look at it—for any of them to be out and about without a job to do.

“Listen,” Jihoon huffs, following Soonyoung out of the car, “I needed a clear shot. You can’t rush these things.”

“But you didn’t need to drag it out, either!” Soonyoung whines.

“You think I wanted to?”

“I’m just saying, maybe if you’d used the vantage point _I_ found, it would have been faster!”

“You can’t turn back time, Soonyoung,” Jihoon sighs. He brings an end to the conversation by reaching up and ruffling Soonyoung’s hair.

Pouting, Soonyoung allows the contact. He rounds the vehicle to get to the back and Jihoon continues to follow him.

“I guess,” Soonyoung mumbles. His voice is almost lost to the _whoosh_ of air produced by the trunk opening.

“Mingyu-ya!” Jihoon calls.

“Hey,” Seungcheol cuts in. “Don’t shout: you’ll wake the kids.”

Jihoon lifts a brow in Seungcheol’s direction, but he doesn’t reply.

“I had to make sure we had a getaway!” Mingyu’s saying as he appears at Jihoon’s other side, Minghao on his heels. “It’s not like you needed me out there, anyway!”

“Are you sure it’s not because you’re a scaredy-cat?” Minghao asks with a grin.

Soonyoung puts his hands on his hips. “Okay,” he says, “what are you kids arguing about _now_?”

Although Mingyu opens his mouth to talk, Minghao speaks up first. “Don’t you think it would have gone faster if this deadweight actually got out of the car and helped us?” he asks.

Mingyu frowns and crosses his arms over his chest.

Soonyoung rubs his chin in thought.

“No,” Seungcheol says, coming up behind Mingyu and Minghao. He drapes his arms around both of their shoulders. “You know how important it is to have a ready getaway, Hao Hao.”

“Don’t call me—”

“Right?” Seungcheol presses.

Mingyu grins victoriously.

“Yeah,” Minghao grumbles. He pushes a frustrated hand into Seungcheol’s side for the trouble, though.

“Let’s just unload and get to sleep,” Jihoon says as he finally opens the trunk.

“That’s what she said,” Mingyu and Soonyoung say at the same time. When they finish speaking, they turn to each other with wide grins and exchange high fives.

Despite his easy smile, Seungcheol shakes his head at his dongsaengs. They stick their tongues out at him as he approaches Jihoon’s side so that he can assist him with unloading.

When Seungcheol appears, Jihoon looks over at him, his shoulder tense. His eyes are sharp as he assesses Seungcheol, giving him a quick once over. Seemingly satisfied, Jihoon relaxes some.

Seungcheol is suddenly aware of the inches between their bodies, and the strange sensation that settles over his skin feels like being uncertain about whether or not the ghostly touch on your arm is a bug, hair, or just your imagination. He’s immensely glad that Jihoon is standing next to him in one piece—but that sentiment extends to all of his crew members, not just Jihoon.

Jihoon’s elbow brushes Seungcheol’s side. Seungcheol freezes almost immediately.

“Hyung,” Soonyoung says, tugging on Seungcheol’s arm with loose fingers around his wrist. “Can you help us with this? It’s heavier than we thought.”

Seungcheol glances at Jihoon one more time. With pursed lips, Jihoon is double-checking the status of one of his handguns, squinting in the moonlight.

It takes no effort for Seungcheol to pull on an easy smile when he turns back towards Soonyoung.

“Of course,” he says before he’s led to Mingyu and a stack of boxes.

 

When they finish unloading their cargo and locking it up for the night, they filter into the house with quiet fatigue. The sound of all the locks being done up echoes through the house, rhythmic like a clock, a pendant lulling them to sleep.

“Hey,” Wonwoo greets them, standing in the doorway of the staircase leading down to the basement. It’s the computer room, also known as Wonwoo’s mancave.

“Hey,” Seungcheol greets him.

Soonyoung, Jihoon, and Minghao pass by their leader with quick bows, headed upstairs to their respective bedrooms.

“I can give him the report, hyung,” Mingyu announces, bounding over to Wonwoo’s side. “You should head to bed.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” he asks.

With a firm nod, Mingyu explains, “Yeah. Like Minghao said, I was in the car the whole time. Since you guys did all the heavy work, it only makes sense for me to do the paperwork, right?”

Seungcheol crosses the room and puts steady hands on Mingyu’s shoulders.

“Mingyu,” Seungcheol says with a casual calm, “I don’t need to repeat myself, do I?”

“What do you mean, boss?” Mingyu asks. A hint of nervousness in his voice pitches it a bit higher than usual.

Seungcheol gives Mingyu a gentle squeeze. Mingyu is one of their newer members, as well as one of the younger half, and sometimes he seems uncertain about how to act around his leader. It’s cute and Seungcheol kinda likes to feel intimidating—it’s an easy reminder of his position as boss.

“Earlier,” Seungcheol clarifies, “when I said that it’s important to have a clear getaway.”

Wonwoo snorts. “You’re still worried about that, huh?” he asks. “How many times do we have to tell you we’d be fucked without a way out?”

“Well, I mean—maybe if I was out there with you, you wouldn’t need to have a getaway—”

“Come on, don’t flatter yourself,” Wonwoo scoffs. “Extra hands are nice sometimes, but you know what’s even nicer? Knowing that there’s someone around to get help in case something goes wrong. And I’d rather risk having to do extra work than losing my backup.”

Seungcheol gestures at Wonwoo with a hand and gives Mingyu a crooked smile. “He’s right, you know,” Seungcheol says.

“But Wonwoo-hyung doesn’t even know what it’s like to be on the field,” Mingyu whines, but his tone is subdued nonetheless.

“I don’t need to hold a gun to know they’re dangerous,” Wonwoo tells him.

Seungcheol raises his eyebrows at Mingyu.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Mingyu shoves his hands into his pockets. “Okay,” he says slowly, “but still. Driving got me all wired up, so I don’t think I’ll sleep right away, anyway. You’re better off getting to bed now in case someone needs you in the morning.”

There’s no point in arguing the matter any further; if Mingyu is offering, then who is Seungcheol to refuse a kind gesture? With another smile, Seungcheol pats Mingyu’s shoulder.

“If you need anything, you know where to find me,” Seungcheol calls as he heads towards the stairs.

“Yessir!” Mingyu calls back.

Seungcheol hears the door to the basement click closed as he ascends the staircase.

This is only one of their residential buildings. A crew with thirteen members means a lot of traffic in any of their hideouts, so they swap out every other day as one of their numerous safety measures. This one is situated on the outskirts of the east side of the city, on the edge of some old slums.

Seungcheol listens carefully for the sound of his crew members settling down for bed. There are still a few bedroom lights on, painting the hallway with stark streaks of yellow; Jeonghan and Jisoo must have woken up when they arrived earlier. Seungcheol opens up their group chat as he shuffles into his bedroom to peel off his work clothes.

 

Group Chat: THE BIG BOYS 

[ **THE BOSS** ]:  
_go to sleep_

[ **THE BRAINS** ]:  
_you go to sleep!!_

[ **THE BEAUTY** ]:  
_i’m just checking on the kids, chill out_

[ **THE BOSS** ]:  
ok fine let me know if you need anything

[ **THE BRAINS** ]:  
_i need you to head to bed_

[ **THE BRAINS** ]:  
_unless you’re gonna check on jihoonie first? i know he was in charge of today’s hit_

[ **THE BEAUTY** ]:  
_ya i didn’t see him yet, so it might be a good idea to see him before he passes out_

[ **THE BOSS** ]:  
_you guys are doing this on purpose, aren’t you_

[ **THE BEAUTY** ]:  
_;)_

[ **THE BRAINS** ]:  
_;)_

 

Jeonghan and Jisoo’s synchronized winky faces do nothing to calm the vibrating unease in Seungcheol’s stomach.

For the moment, Seungcheol decides he’ll risk missing the opportunity to check in on Jihoon so that he can finish getting dressed. Luckily for him, there hadn’t been too much blood spray in their firefight earlier, but his clothes still smell like whatever had been lurking in that underground parking lot.

Out of all their hideouts, Seungcheol might rank this one second or third. He actually has some personal belongings here: a steel water bottle, a business card case full of extra cash, an extra phone case, and an extra magazine for his favourite handgun. He likes to keep a handful of extras for everything around—just in case.

With weary eyes, he chances a look in the mirror. His hair is a mess and there are a few stray drops of blood on his neck and cheek. Whoops. He scrubs at the mess with the back of his hand and winces when he realizes there’s a bruise climbing up the side of his jaw.

Fuck it. It’s probably too dark to see anything on his face, anyway.

The trip to Jihoon’s bedroom isn’t exactly well-practiced—but this is also one of their longest-running hideouts, so Seungcheol knows the layout a bit more than the others. It helps that Jihoon is one of the crew’s founders and has therefore been around just as long as Seungcheol. They found this place together.

Jihoon’s bedroom door is a familiar sight; Seungcheol shouldn’t feel so elated to see a plank of wood. It’s open a crack, Jihoon’s silent signal for ‘not sleeping yet, bug me if you dare’.

“Hey,” Seungcheol calls, a hesitant hand on the doorknob.

As the door creaks open, Jihoon looks up from his phone. He is seated on the edge of his bed, dressed in a loose white shirt and grey sweats. His hands are already taped up, but he doesn’t seem to be having any trouble handling his phone, at least.

“Yo,” Jihoon replies. His eyes are dark all around, desperate for sleep. Seungcheol can only hope that Jihoon can find it easily.

“Just checking in. You know, routine.”

Jihoon hums in response. He tosses his phone at the head of his bed before rubbing his hands over his face.

“Alright,” Jihoon says, lowering his hands from his face. He gestures around the room with his beat-up hands. “You can sit wherever, if you want.”

Seungcheol glances at the empty space next to Jihoon on his bed. He opts for a chair by a desk instead. Once he’s settled, he balances his weight on his knees and looks over at Jihoon expectantly.

“Okay,” Jihoon starts, “my name is Lee Jihoon and I killed two people today.”

“Jihoon…” Seungcheol sighs.

Jihoon shoots him a crooked grin. At least he can manage that.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jihoon apologizes, but Seungcheol knows he’s not sorry at all. “Anyway, yeah. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I took the pics to confirm the kill and sent them when we got back to the car. I can show you, if you want.”

After they cleaned up as much of their tracks as possible, the crew had piled into their getaway in a rush, so Seungcheol hadn’t had the time to go over all the details.

Seungcheol hums. “Send them to me in the morning,” he replies.

“It’s already morning, hyung.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

Jihoon grins that crooked grin again. “Was there anything else you wanted?” Jihoon asks.

Seungcheol meets Jihoon’s eyes. There’s a hint of red around his mouth, probably from rubbing his face with bloodied fingers, but other than that and his taped-up hands, Jihoon looks fine, physically.

Jihoon has been doing this for a while, not to mention he’s a grown man, but Seungcheol always feels better once he’s debriefed Jihoon himself. Jihoon always humours him and Seungcheol is always thankful for it.

“I think that’s it,” Seungcheol replies.

Everything else is accounted for: Seungcheol was there when they packed up their weapons, after all, and they’d left the bodies of the faceless mooks there to rot as a warning message (and not because they were in a rush to get out or anything). Seungcheol wouldn’t necessarily call himself meticulous by any means, but once you’ve done this sort of thing for a while, you develop habits.

“Cool.” Jihoon’s eyes linger on Seungcheol’s face for a second. “You doing okay, too? I saw that guy get you in the face,” Jihoon says.

Instinctively, Seungcheol’s fingers brush over the injury in question.

“I managed to dodge the brunt of it,” Seungcheol responds with a cool grin.

The lines of Jihoon’s mouth soften. He ducks his head and seeks out his phone again. “That’s good,” he mumbles, closing his fingers around his phone. The tattooed ring on his right pinky peeks out from under the tape.

Seungcheol gets to his feet with a huff. “Alright!” he calls out. “I bid you goodnight, then.”

Jihoon hums. “Yeah,” he says, “goodnight, hyung.”

Jihoon doesn’t look up when Seungcheol crosses the room to reach the door. He closes it behind him quietly.

When Seungcheol returns to his bedroom, he checks his phone for the time. 4:43AM. He should be able to get at least three hours of shuteye.

He falls into bed and into dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

The scent of dust and antiseptic lingers in the house into the morning. About an hour after sunrise, Seungkwan goes through his skincare routine with the ease of habit. Jeonghan shows up about halfway into it and they share the bathroom sink for a while.

“Good morning!” Seungkwan calls as he descends the stairs.

“Good morning,” Seokmin replies, waving to Seungkwan from his position at the kitchen table.

“There’s stew and dumplings,” Mingyu says as Seungkwan takes a seat next to Seokmin. He gestures at the dishes with a ladle before turning back to the microwave. “I’m heating up some rice right now. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Thanks,” Seungkwan says warmly. He nods his head at Mingyu’s back. “I’ll eat well. Are these leftovers?”

Seokmin nods, a spoon in his mouth. He uses his free hand to nudge a pot of tea in Seungkwan’s direction and Seungkwan accepts it with a thankful nod.

It’s been about three months since Seungkwan joined the crew with Seokmin. At this point, he thinks it’s safe to say that it was a pretty damn good decision.

Seungkwan wouldn’t _exactly_ call himself a gangster or a mobster or even a mafioso, despite his penchant for dramatics. He’s a businessman, and joining this crew had been a business move—a self-preserving one, yeah, but a business move nonetheless. It was definitely a promotion from _conman,_ he can say that much.

Initially, his main worry had been pulling his weight. Seungkwan came into this without any idea how to handle a kitchen knife, much less a gun. Although Seungcheol made it clear from day one that Seungkwan’s jobs would be exclusively on the business side of things, Seungkwan still had his doubts. Organized crime, despite the name, is also so… messy. And Seungkwan prefers to keep things clean.

Words are soft, malleable, easy to handle. Guns have so many parts, and you need to maintain them, too. The crew has quite an array of weapons to choose from in each of their hideouts—and Seungkwan _still_ can’t believe they have multiple hideouts—but Hansol told him that sticking to one type of weapon would make it easier to get used to that particular weapon’s characteristics.

Hansol is the only other member that’s the same age as Seungkwan. Obviously that meant they had to be friends, but Seungkwan actually gets along with him pretty well. Hansol laughs at his jokes, and although that is probably the minimum requirement of being Seungkwan’s friend, it’s also one of the most important ones, too.

With a yawn, Hansol enters the room. He pushes the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow as he joins the members at the table.

“Morning,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.

Seungkwan passes him the teapot and Hansol accepts with a nod.

“Morning,” Seungkwan replies. “Good to see you’re actually up on time.”

Hansol doesn’t say anything as he pours his tea. When he looks up again, he meets Seungkwan’s gaze. “What?” he asks, bemused.

Seungkwan sighs. “Are you really awake right now?” Seungkwan asks.

Mingyu takes a seat across from them once he sets down a bowl of reheated rice on the table. “I’m sure eating will wake him up,” Mingyu states with the kind of confidence reserved solely for food.

Hansol grunts. Seokmin hands him a bowl and a pair of chopsticks, grinning.

“I’m guessing he’s taking you out shooting again?” Seokmin asks, jerking his chin in Hansol’s direction.

Seungkwan nods. “Round two,” Seungkwan says. “Wish me luck.”

“You’re doing fine,” Hansol comments around a mouthful of food.

Mingyu reaches across the table to pat Hansol’s cheek, swollen with rice and stew, with the pads of his fingertips.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, young man,” Mingyu admonishes him.

Hansol rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t make a move to stop eating.

Another nice thing about joining this crew had been the fact that one of them actually knows how to cook. That immediately put Mingyu in Seungkwan’s good books. It makes being away from home more bearable.

And _that_ had been an obstacle Seungkwan hadn’t prepared himself for, when he first got into things. He didn’t know it would be so hard to hide so much from his family—but, as he’s been discovering over the years, lying is becoming as easy as breathing. It’s the separation that gets him most days.

The four of them eat and chat until the tea is finished. Mingyu prepares another pot for his hyungs, who are meant to appear any second now according to his predictions.

“You know the boss isn’t one to sleep the morning away, even after a job,” Mingyu says.

Seungkwan has learned that in his three months with them, yes.

Hansol nudges Seungkwan with an elbow once he cleans off his bowl.

“Ready to go?” Hansol asks. “Everything we need is packed up and ready to go out back.”

With one last glance at the table, Seungkwan takes stock of everything in front of him: Seokmin helping Mingyu sort out the rest of the leftovers, the empty cup of tea next to his empty bowl of rice, the early morning sun casting a strangely warm and cozy light over everything.

Nodding, Seungkwan gets to his feet. “Yeah,” he says, turning to Hansol. “Ready to go.”

Hansol grins at him. “Great,” he replies before leading Seungkwan out of the kitchen.

As far as business moves go, this is definitely the best one Seungkwan has made yet.


	2. Act One: Chapter Two - Believe It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are a lot of Naruto references in this btw. i have no idea whether or not sasuke actually got a redemption arc, so if i'm wrong, i take full responsibility.
> 
> ETA: i forgot to mention that the masks in this chapter were inspired by [these ones](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/1jhfz0bSf6M/maxresdefault.jpg) found in GTAV!

Things get weird when the people in anime masks show up.

“Oh, come on,” Soonyoung cries as he throws up his hands, “you’ve got it all wrong! Naruto would _never_ show up in an all-black get-up! Where’s the respect to the trade? To Naruto himself? He’s the Hokage of the Hidden Leaf Village, you know!”

One guy, wearing a plastic mask with popular anime protagonist Naruto’s face printed on it, turns to his two accomplices. At least their masks match: another guy’s wearing Sasuke and another guy’s wearing Sakura.

Over their secured radio channel, Seokmin can hear the distant echoes of Jisoo’s laughter. It takes some effort not to grin in turn.

“At least it’s Team Seven,” Seokmin offers. “If it was Naruto and, like, Gaara or something, it would have been _way_ worse.”

“I guess,” Soonyoung agrees with a heavy sigh.

This was supposed to be a quick, in-and-out job. Guns weren’t meant to get involved at all. Seokmin’s a terrible shot, despite Soonyoung’s excellent coaching. He was assigned to this particular job because it was meant to be a talk with a potential ally about turf distribution. Seokmin’s good at talking, not shooting.

Team Seven appeared when things took a sour turn.

“Listen,” another guy—the first guy, the one Seokmin had been trying to reason with earlier—starts, “I’m not taking any less than Guro-gu _and_ Geumcheon-gu. I’m not settling for _just_ Guro-gu _or_ Geumcheon-gu: I’m taking both. You can take it as it is and go tell your boss in one piece, or you can resist—and I’ll go talk to him myself when you’re dead. I’m not some coward that sends his dogs to negotiate.”

Seokmin suppresses a snarl. Instead, he smiles, wide and warm and welcoming, and spreads his arms open.

“I suppose you haven’t realized this yet, but my boss is a very busy man,” Seokmin explains. His tone is slow and patronizing, and he peers at his adversary down the length of his nose. “I’m more than happy to take care of the trash in his place.”

“What’d you call me?” the guy asks. If Seokmin remembers correctly, the dude’s name is Minwoo or something, but Seokmin decides to call him Kakashi since he seems to be the leader of Team Seven.

“You heard me.” Seokmin tilts his head. “Or are you hard of hearing?” With a deep, exaggerated bow, Seokmin continues, “Oh, sir, I’m so sorry, you should have said something earlier! It all makes sense now. I guess you didn’t hear me properly the first time!”

Seokmin leans forward. Beside him, Soonyoung cocks his assault rifle.

“You can only choose one,” Seokmin states calmly, “Guro-gu or Geumcheon-gu. Do I need to repeat myself?”

Naruto, Sakura, and Sasuke advance a few steps. Soonyoung frowns.

“Actually,” Soonyoung interjects, “I gotta give you guys props for buying three separate masks.” He pauses to hum. “Well, then again, I guess three Naruto masks would just be shadow clones. Still doesn’t change the fact that this is totally out of character.”

 _“Oh my_ god, _Soonyoungie,”_ Jisoo wheezes over the comms.

 _“You know, you can ask for backup if you need it,”_ Wonwoo points out.

Over the months, Seokmin has gotten slightly used to the rumble of Wonwoo’s voice in his ears over their radios. The timbre of his voice kind of reminds Seokmin of what he imagines a singles hotline employee would sound like.

Wonwoo was not amused the first time he heard that. Or the second time. Or the third time. Or every time after that.

 _“Of course the anime freaks would show up when you guys get a mission alone,”_ Seungkwan muses.

Seokmin doesn’t like the tone Seungkwan takes when he says “anime freaks”, but he can’t say anything yet. He doesn’t think their opponents have realized that they’re communicating by radio at all.

Minwoo—Kakashi, dammit—pulls a handgun out of his jacket and shakes his head, sighing.

“Don’t waste your breath,” Kakashi says, “‘cause it might just be your last. Now, do you want _me_ to repeat my conditions, or are you finally gonna smarten up?”

“‘Smarten’,” Soonyoung whispers under his breath. “Is that a real word?”

 _“I can google it for you if you want,”_ Wonwoo offers.

 _“Actually, Soonyoung, if you want backup, I can send in Jihoon. I think he’ll be on his way back soon,”_ Jisoo adds, ever the voice of reason.

Soonyoung looks over at Seokmin. He flashes a few fingers in what must be some sort of hand signal, but Seokmin can’t recognize it for the life of him.

Kakashi points his gun in Soonyoung’s direction. “Hey,” he says, “if you got anything to say, speak up, kid.”

 _“Ooh, ‘kid’,”_ Seungkwan coos over the line. _“How intimidating.”_

Soonyoung snorts as he tries to contain a chuckle.

“Well, I guess I do have a question,” Soonyoung tells him.

Sighing, Kakashi tilts his chin upwards. “Yeah?” he asks. “Since you’ve been _so_ insightful about our disguises, I’d love to hear more.”

“Firstly,” Soonyoung starts, “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm. And secondly—you’re supposed to be Kakashi, right?” Soonyoung grins. “I mean, you’ve gotta be. You’re the leader, so, like, you know.”

Seokmin turns to Soonyoung with a wide grin. “I was thinking the exact same thing!” he exclaims.

 _“Oh my god,”_ Wonwoo laments, _“what the hell are they talking about.”_

“Yes!” They exchange high fives. “Soonseok forever, man!” Soonyoung says with glee.

Seokmin nearly jumps out of his own skin when a shot rings out. Naruto lowers his gun from where he’d shot at the level above them.

 _“Oh, looks like they’re mad now,”_ Seungkwan observes.

Seokmin hears Jisoo attempt to catch his breath from his earlier laughter.

 _“Hey, actually, it looks like Jeonghan-hyung’s passing by,”_ Wonwoo states. _“I’ll radio him and tell him to drop by. Stall a little longer.”_

Another shot rings out and Seokmin jumps back from the steaming hole by his feet.

“That was your last warning,” Kakashi sneers. “This is your last chance: you can agree to my conditions and we’ll leave you alone, or you can die tonight. What’s it gonna be, boys?”

“I don’t really like either of those options,” Seokmin replies. “Is there an option C?”

Kakashi cocks his gun and points it at Seokmin’s face.

“Okay, guess not,” Seokmin mutters.

Soonyoung and Seokmin look at each other. Soonyoung scrunches his nose and pulls back his upper lip, revealing his top row of teeth. Now that’s a signal Seokmin recognizes.

Seokmin suddenly leaps to the left, doing little bunny hops that jostle his handgun from its holster under his jacket. Belatedly, Kakashi shoots at the spot he’d been standing on only seconds ago.

The parking lot lights up in seconds. Naruto and his companions shoot wildly at Soonyoung and Seokmin, separating them as they dive behind cars for cover.

“Hyung,” Seokmin hisses into his earpiece. “Now what?”

“Don’t panic, Seokminnie,” Soonyoung answers immediately. Seokmin can hear him taking shots both over the radio and through the vibrations in the air. “I’ll try to distract them until Jeonghan-hyung comes. I know you weren’t really prepared to shoot today, so just try to stay hidden.”

 _“Seokmin, to your left,”_ Wonwoo snaps.

Without thinking, Seokmin rolls to his right. He can feel the concrete under his feet complain about its new bullet wound.

His hands are sweaty as he turns off the safety on his gun. Yeah, Seokmin _isn’t_ prepared to shoot, but he isn’t prepared to die tonight, either. His head darts around as he tries to assess his surroundings; the rush of adrenaline makes his vision swim for a second, but his foes’ colour-coordinated masks help him find his focus.

Taking a deep breath, Seokmin takes a shot in the direction the first attack had been in. He hears the bullet ricochet off a nearby car and curses under his breath.

 _“You weren’t_ that _far off,”_ Jisoo says in a soothing tone.

 _“Yeah, if you don’t consider five whole kilometres a far distance,”_ Seungkwan adds with a scoff.

“Not helpful, Kwannie,” Seokmin grumbles.

_“I’m just saying! And I don’t appreciate the nickname right now, either!”_

“I don’t appreciate your face,” Seokmin grunts, taking another shot. The pink flash of Sakura’s plastic hair gives him a target, and it’d be nice to actually hit something this time.

A shout of pain follows Seokmin’s shot. He heaves a breath of relief.

 _“You’d better move now,”_ Wonwoo says, _“don’t give them a chance to pinpoint your location.”_

“Right.” Seokmin peers over the hood of the car he’s hiding behind, looking for a new hiding place.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, is sliding over the top of a car, gun blazing. He doesn’t manage to hit anything, but the bullet spray gives Seokmin an opportunity to relocate.

“I’m sorry Kishimoto-sama!” Soonyoung shouts as he guns down Sasuke. “I didn’t even like Sasuke that much anyway! He was such an asshole!”

 _“He definitely didn’t deserve the redemption arc,”_ Jisoo mutters through his mic.

“Ooh, hyung, may I respectfully disagree?” Seokmin pipes up.

 _“You can keep moving!”_ Seungkwan exclaims.

Seokmin dives behind another car. A series of _bang_ s resonates through the air as the car he’d previously been hiding behind bursts into flames.

“Shit,” Soonyoung mutters into his earpiece.

 _“Sakura’s still up, but I think Sasuke’s a confirmed kill,”_ Jisoo observes. _“Naruto’s coming your way, Seokmin. I think Kakashi’s behind him.”_

 _“For god’s sake, the leader’s name is Minwoo,”_ Wonwoo complains.

“Kakashi’s way cooler,” Soonyoung informs him. His words are caught on the end of a loud exhale as Soonyoung leaps over another car. There’s yet another succession of noise as another car blows up.

With a burst of static, a new voice joins the fray.

 _“What the hell is going on here?”_ Jeonghan exclaims.

“Hyung!” Seokmin calls back. “Are you on-site?”

There’s more static, but it’s not long before Jeonghan’s voice emerges again. _“Not yet, but I’m in the area. I can see smoke near the location—did you guys set shit on fire?”_

“Not on purpose,” Soonyoung cuts in.

_“That doesn’t answer my question.”_

Seokmin pops up from behind cover just long enough to shoot at what he hopes is Naruto.

“Hey!” Soonyoung calls from across the parking lot. “That’s not how I taught you to shoot! Seo—”

Something darts out from his left and sends Soonyoung crashing to the floor.

“Hyung!” Seokmin cries. He’s already vaulting over his cover to rush to his friend’s aid.

 _“Seokmin, don’t—”_ Jisoo starts.

“Don’t worry, stay calm, it’s okay,” Jeonghan interjects, his words hurried as they flood out of his mouth.

Not one part of Seokmin’s body wants to stay calm. He can’t stop running, even when Kakashi turns on his heel to face Seokmin. Shots ring out, but Seokmin dodges all of them, fueled by panic and fear.

Kakashi growls and shoots again. This time, he grazes Seokmin’s shoulder, sending him tumbling to the ground.

“I’ve got everything under control!” Jeonghan shouts. His voice echoes through the parking lot and his panic serves as an excellent amplifier.

Naruto crumples onto the ground next to Seokmin, bleeding profusely from a bullet wound to the head. Seokmin gags immediately.

 _“Seokmin,”_ Wonwoo warns, _“don’t throw up. You need to keep those fluids inside, do you hear me?”_

 _“Plus, I really don’t want to see it. We have, like, three different camera feeds going and I don’t need to see you projectile vomit from this many angles,”_ Seungkwan supplies.

“Don’t you ever shut up?” Seokmin asks weakly. He swallows down as much nausea as he possibly can; his stomach doesn’t appreciate it, but it can’t protest in this state of fight or flight.

_“Hell no! Boo Seungkwan, not talking? That’s absurd! Ridiculous! Unheard of! Positively ludicrous!”_

_“Hey, Seokminnie, it’s gonna be fine,”_ Jisoo coos into his mic. _“Jeonghan’s here and he already caught Naruto by surprise. Sakura’s down, too; only Kakashi’s left.”_

“Yeah, but he’s… an ex-ANBU,” Seokmin mumbles. “Jounin-level nin, hyung! He was in a Bingo Book, you know!”

 _“What the hell does that even mean?”_ Wonwoo asks.

 _“Is it worth answering?”_ Seungkwan adds.

 _“Basically, it means that Kakashi’s a skilled, high-ranking warrior,”_ Jisoo explains with his usual patient tone. _“But it’s irrelevant. The guy’s not_ actually _Kakashi.”_

 _“You don’t say,”_ Wonwoo says dryly.

“Seokmin, he’s coming right at you,” Soonyoung warns.

Although Soonyoung sounds reasonably urgent, Seokmin’s legs do not want to cooperate with him. Despite concentrating his energy to his legs, Seokmin can’t seem to get them to respond; his knees are buckled tight.

 _“Hyung!”_ Seungkwan squeals. _“Seokmin-hyung, come on, get your ass moving for fuck’s sake!”_

Seokmin takes a deep breath. Panic continues to bubble in his chest, but it freezes into solid ice when Seokmin meets Kakashi’s eyes across the parking lot.

Then he starts to run.

More shots ring out. Something catches the back of Seokmin’s jacket, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t even flinch. He just keeps running.

Even more shots clatter through the air. Seokmin doesn’t hear anything until the roar of his crewmates’ cheering blasts through his earpiece.

There are fingers around his wrist and then Seokmin’s blinking fast and hard, trying to rationalize the blur of sensations around him. His earpiece continues to buzz with unintelligible words.

“Seokmin,” someone calls. There are too many voices in Seokmin’s head; he can’t identify the one calling his name.

Someone shakes his shoulders. Seokmin blinks again.

“Seokmin-ah?” Soonyoung asks. His voice is rough and ragged and his chest is heaving with exertion.

“Hyung?” Seokmin croaks. His words come out barely above a whisper, but it’s enough: Soonyoung throws relieved arms around Seokmin’s shoulders and cradles the back of his head.

“Shit,” Soonyoung mutters into Seokmin’s ear. “Seokminnie, don’t be mad,” he continues, “but I might have gotten blood on the back of your head.”

 _“Romantic,”_ Seungkwan purrs.

“Oh, shut up,” Soonyoung grumbles. However, he makes no move to let go of Seokmin.

Seokmin glances over Soonyoung’s shoulder and sees Jeonghan pushing his hair out of his face. His entire chest is covered in a spray of blood, but he looks okay so far.

“That’s two fires I had to put out today,” Jeonghan comments.

Soonyoung finally pulls out of Seokmin’s embrace, but he keeps a hand around Seokmin’s waist. With his chin, he gestures at the two cars that had burst into flame during the firefight.

“But those are still on fire,” Soonyoung says.

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “You know what I meant,” he says flatly. A genuine frown graces his features as he closes in on Seokmin’s other side. “How’re you holding up?”

Seokmin breathes a shaky exhale and shrugs. “Nothing fatal,” he says eventually.

“Good.” Still, Jeonghan hovers; his eyes trace Seokmin’s body from head to toe. When he finds nothing worth fussing about, his shoulders relax a bit.

“Come on,” Jeonghan continues. He wraps gloved fingers around Seokmin’s wrist. “My car’s a few blocks down the road. Maybe we can get back before dawn.”

Seokmin gives no protest as his hyungs lead him out of the parking lot.

 

* * *

 

 

Mingyu doesn’t mind being the designated cook around the base. In fact, he’s happy to help keep his members on their feet.

It’s still hard to deliver consolation food to injured parties, however. And it sucks even more that it’s Seokmin, one of the two same-age friends he has in the crew.

Mingyu had been driving Seungcheol and Jihoon to a slew of rendezvous points all day, so he missed all the commotion in the monitor room. At least Wonwoo had been giving him text updates throughout the entire affair.

Seokmin’s injury isn’t huge, but it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Seungcheol’s with Wonwoo and Jisoo right now, trying to figure out who swayed Minwoo into betraying them.

“I brought jjajangmyeon,” Mingyu calls, nudging the infirmary door open with a tray.

Seokmin lights up immediately. His bright smile contrasts strongly with the bandages wrapped over his shoulder.

“Smells amazing,” Seokmin comments as Mingyu draws closer. “I’ll eat well, thank you.”

Mingyu sets the tray down on the bedside table. He pulls out a bed tray from the drawer in the table and folds it over Seokmin’s lap.

“You don’t have to,” Seokmin says, already starting to sit up, but Mingyu shakes his head.

“Let me treat the invalid,” Mingyu says with a small smile.

At that, Seokmin settles. He smiles again and it’s bright enough to fill the entire room.

With careful hands, Mingyu sets down a pair of chopsticks, some napkins, a glass of water, and the bowl of jjajangmyeon on the bed tray. Seokmin beams at Mingyu before he starts to dig in.

“So,” Mingyu starts, settling into a chair by Seokmin’s bedside, “you gotta tell me everything that happened.”

Seokmin looks up, noodles dangling from his mouth.

“I mean,” Mingyu amends, “when you’re done eating.”

With a smile that shows more in his eyes than his occupied mouth, Seokmin nods. He swallows before he says, “Well, it all started when Naruto, Sakura, and Sasuke showed up…”


	3. Act One: Chapter Three - Canine Craze

In all the time Jihoon has known Seungcheol, Jihoon often forgets one distinctive trait that his leader has.

Seungcheol _loves_ dogs.

This particular characteristic poses a problem when they walk onto a rendezvous point full of vicious guard dogs. Their contact is completely absent, and the only company they have can only offer them snapping jaws and animalistic bloodlust.

Jihoon’s first instinct is to raise his gun, but it takes less than a second for Seungcheol to grab his wrist with a vice grip.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol says, his voice sharp and hard, “do not shoot these dogs.”

The animals in question are coming at them at a desperate pace, so Jihoon switches to plan B: run.

They barely make it out of the room in time to escape with their bodies intact. Jihoon slams the door in the dogs’ faces and he feels Seungcheol’s hands on his body again.

“You need to be gentler around dogs, Jihoon,” Seungcheol tells him. The glint in his eye sends a shiver down Jihoon’s spine.

“But hyung,” Jihoon protests, “they’re out to fucking _kill us._ ”

“They’ve been brainwashed!” Seungcheol exclaims.

“We could just… you know…” Junhui trails off and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Leave?”

Jihoon shakes his head. “We should at least look around for any clues about where that rat bastard Sangeun went,” he grumbles. “He owes us enough money to pay for these dogs’ neutering—and more.”

Hansol looks over at their leader with a quizzical expression. “You really like dogs that much, huh?” he asks.

Seungcheol’s eyes glint again. Jihoon puts a stop to that catastrophe before it happens, putting a hand on Seungcheol’s chest to still him.

“Now’s not the time or place to get into that just yet,” Jihoon says.

Seungcheol shakes his head so fast he almost whips off his heist beanie (it’s a simple black affair, but it’s old, kinda like a good luck charm covered in little lint balls).

“No! This is the perfect time and place to get into it!” Seungcheol cries. His hands are balled into fists and he’s waving them around wildly, unable to contain his emotions. “Because we’re gonna rescue those dogs no matter what!”

“What,” Jihoon deadpans.

Jihoon looks up at Junhui. Wearing a sheepish smile, Junhui turns to Jihoon and shrugs his shoulders just slightly.

 _‘Help me,’_ Jihoon thinks in Junhui’s direction.

Junhui nods resolutely.

“Alright, boss,” Junhui says, turning to their leader, “what’s the plan?”

Jihoon resists the urge to smack himself. He resists the urge to smack Junhui and Seungcheol, the useless pieces of shit.

“We don’t have time for this, hyung,” Jihoon presses. Without thinking, he reaches for Seungcheol’s arm, but just as his fingers come close enough, he reels his arm back. God knows what Seungcheol could manhandle him into doing.

“What? Do you have plans?” Seungcheol asks him, lifting an eyebrow. “As your leader, your boss, I’m making this an urgent matter, top level priority.”

“As second-in-command,” Jihoon growls, “I’m opposing that decision on the account that we have no idea where Sangeun is—he could still be on the premises! He could be around that corner, and then we’d be stuck between a rock and a pack of fucking vicious dogs!”

“They’re _not_ a pack of vicious—whatever! I can’t even say it!” Seungcheol waves a hand at Jihoon and turns his back to him.

Hansol leans into Junhui’s shoulder and mutters, “It’s been a while since they’ve been this, like—”

“Domestic?” Junhui supplies under his breath.

Hansol nods.

“Hey,” Seungcheol snaps, “no scheming behind my back.”

Both Junhui and Hansol take a step away from each other and stand at attention.

Sighing, Seungcheol spreads his arms. “Okay,” he says, “if we get in shit, fine. I take full responsibility.”

“You _always_ take full responsibility, Seungcheol,” Jihoon spits, “you’re the fucking _leader,_ remember?”

Seungcheol shushes Jihoon and puts a hand on top of his head.

“That’s enough out of you tonight,” he says. Jihoon scowls, fiery and fierce, but Seungcheol does nothing in response and continues smoothly. “Anyway! New plan—we’re gonna rescue as many of those dogs as possible and use them against Sangeun! Isn’t that just the sweetest ‘in your face’?”

Junhui and Hansol exchange looks. Just as their eyes start to slide towards Jihoon, Seungcheol snaps his fingers.

“Hey,” he calls again. “I asked you a question, and you’re gonna answer me.”

“Hyung—” Hansol starts.

Seungcheol interrupts him by clicking his tongue. “No, Hansol, you see, I asked a yes or no question. It’s that simple. Yes or no.”

With a sigh, Jihoon steps up to Hansol’s side and says, “Stop hounding them, hyung.”

“Ooh, a pun,” Seungcheol remarks, “nice. Now you’re really getting into the spirit of things, Jihoonie!”

Jihoon raises both eyebrows for a second. “Anyway,” he continues, “I was just gonna say that you should get to the point. How the hell are we gonna rescue the dogs?”

“Good question!” Seungcheol chimes. He sounds awfully chipper for someone with no apparent plan.

“Uh… Maybe we could try feeding them?” Hansol suggests.

“Do you have any food on you?” Junhui asks.

A faint blush settles in Hansol’s cheeks. With a hesitant hand, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something covered in plastic wrap.

Junhui’s nose twitches. “Beef jerky? Why are you just… carrying that around with you?”

“I get hungry during jobs sometimes, okay,” Hansol mutters. His fingers curl and uncurl around the food in question, uncertain.

With a small smile, Junhui just shakes his head and gives Hansol’s shoulder an understanding pat.

“Okay, so that’s one idea, sure,” Jihoon says. “Not bad. But I don’t know how we’d divide it equally amongst all the dogs there.”

“Did you manage to count how many there were?” Hansol asks.

“Five,” Seungcheol replies immediately.

Jihoon sighs. “They outnumber us,” he muses, frowning. “I don’t like our odds, especially in an enclosed space.”

“I could get Wonwoo to check the perimeter?” Junhui suggests. “Maybe we can take this outside.”

“Maybe we can free them instead!” Seungcheol cries. “Excellent idea, Junhui!”

Junhui’s mouth quirks into a lopsided smile. “Thank, boss,” he says. He accepts Seungcheol’s side hug gracefully.

Junhui starts to fiddle with his phone and continues, “Besides, he’s a little late giving us this hideout’s blueprints as it is.”

 

Secured Channel #WEN061096-96Su

[  **Junhui** ]:  
_Wonwoo wtf is taking u so long_

 

When Junhui starts to frown at his phone, Jihoon approaches his side and looks over his shoulder.

“Is he even online?” Jihoon asks.

 

[  **Boo Seungkwan has entered the channel.** ]

[  **Seungkwan** ]:  
_He’s dealing with customers from his day job_

[  **Seungkwan** ]:  
_If you want, i can take a message_

 

“Oh for fuck’s—” Junhui groans.

 

[  **Junhui** ]:  
_Doesnt he kno we’re on a fuckin job??_

[  **Seungkwan** ]:  
_You know how kids are these days, the entitled brats_

[  **Junhui** ]:  
_Like u can talk. Shouldnt u be in school urself kiddo?_

[  **Seungkwan** ]:  
_Hey, working gives me real life experience i can apply in future jobs_

[  **Junhui** ]:  
_Y am i even having this convo w/ u_

[  **Seungkwan** ]:  
_Because i’m a delight and every opportunity to interact with me is a privilege_

[  **Junhui** ]:  
_Just_

[  **Junhui** ]:  
_R there any blueprints on his desktop or anything_

[  **Seungkwan** ]:  
_Why do you assume i can understand anything on his computer_

[  **Seungkwan** ]:  
_You guys seriously ask me too much shit sometimes, i’ve been working here for like a few months at best how do you expect me to just know these things_

[  **Junhui** ]:  
_Seungkwan_

[  **Seungkwan** ]:  
_Yes_

[  **Junhui** ]:  
_We r on an important job. Pls just try ur best_

[  **Seungkwan** ]:  
_How can i say no to a request like that_

 

“This kid…” Junhui mutters under his breath.

Seungcheol lifts a brow. “What the hell does a university student want from Wonwoo this late at night, anyway?” he asks.

Hansol shrugs. “I think their exam period is on now?” he offers, uncertain. “Maybe, like, someone spilled coffee on their computer and they’re having a panic attack at his front door.”

“How many times have I told him to give up his day job, honestly,” Jihoon grumbles. He pulls out his phone and begins to type.

 

Private Chat: Jihoon and Wonwoo

[  **Jihoon** ]:  
_Jeon wonwoo i swear to fuck if you don’t get back to your station i’m going to sic some very well trained dogs on you_

[  **Wonwoo** ]:  
_Chill_

[  **Jihoon** ]:  
_Of all people you should know i have no chill whatsoever_

[  **Jihoon** ]:  
_We’re on a fucking JOB wonwoo, you’re lucky it’s me you’re talking to and not seungcheol-hyung_

[  **Wonwoo** ]:  
_1sec_

[  **Wonwoo** ]:  
_Tbh i think i’d rather risk talking to the boss than you_

[  **Jihoon** ]:  
_Remember the dogs i mentioned? There are actual dogs in the flesh here_

[  **Wonwoo** ]:  
_Oh_

[  **Wonwoo** ]:  
_Ok yeah i’d rather talk to you then_

[  **Wonwoo** ]:  
_Rly i’m sorry, you know how i am with kids and their expensive laptops. Hard to resist them when they’re blubbering over the 1000s and 1000s of won they wasted_

[  **Jihoon** ]:  
_If we die here, i’m going to haunt you for the rest of your life_

[  **Wonwoo** ]:  
_Don’t be dramatic_

[  **Jihoon** ]:  
_YOU KNOW HOW SEUNGCHEOL IS WITH DOGS_

[  **Wonwoo** ]:  
_Ok ok i’m getting back to my station. i’m going to suggest you chill and you’re gonna say no and i respect that but the sentiment stands anyway_

[  **Jihoon** ]:  
_Just do your damn job already_

 

When Jihoon looks up again, he finds Hansol and Junhui fully engrossed in whatever ridiculous plan Seungcheol is trying to sell with grandiose words and wide, sweeping gestures. Holding back a sigh, Jihoon taps Junhui’s shoulder.

“Check the channel again,” Jihoon tells him.

It takes a moment for Junhui to remember his surroundings if the vacant look on his face is anything to go by. When he registers Jihoon’s words, he blinks a few times, then nods vigorously.

 

Secured Channel #WEN061096-96Su

[ **Boo Seungkwan has left the channel.** ]

[ **Jeon Wonwoo is now online.** ]

[  **Wonwoo** ]:  
_Wait how the hell did seungkwan even get in here, it looks like you secured the channel to the 96ers?_

[  **Junhui** ]:  
_Who cares just upload the fuckin blueprint_

[  **Wonwoo** ]:  
_Why does no one have any chill right now_

[  **Wonwoo** ]:  
_Winter is just starting, there should be plenty of chill to go around_

[  **Junhui** ]:  
_WONWOO-YA_

 

“He’s making puns!” Junhui cries, distressed.

 

[  **Blueprint #winter_is_coming is uploading…** ]

 

As the present crew leans over Junhui’s shoulder and watches the rhythmic pattern of periods looping on his screen, something blunt and heavy _thumps_ against the door behind them. Next comes scrabbling along with muffled barks and howls.

“Shit, guess they got impatient,” Hansol mutters.

Jihoon glances at the door separating their group from the dogs. It looks stable, despite the ruckus: there aren’t any dents in the material or anything.

A much, much louder _bang_ resounds through the narrow hallway they’re crowding. All four of them look up and stare at the door on the other side.

A gunshot blasts through the air and bullet holes pepper the entrance on the other side.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Junhui sighs.

“We waited too long,” Jihoon comments. His voice is tense and sharp.

Seungcheol lays a heavy hand on Jihoon’s shoulder.

“Don’t speak too soon,” he says. “I’ll take care of it,” he adds, reaching for the gun strapped to his back.

Jihoon grabs Seungcheol’s hand just as it leaves his shoulder.

“Wait,” Jihoon says, “what if that’s Sangeun?”

“Even better,” Seungcheol growls, “seeing as I have some choice words to say to the bastard about brainwashing innocent dogs…”

“Goddammit, hyung—I’m coming with you,” Jihoon grumbles. He turns his hot gaze to Junhui, who perks up as soon as their eyes meet. “Junhui,” Jihoon calls. Junhui nods. “I’m putting you in charge of the dogs. Just yell if you need us.”

Frowning, Jihoon also pulls his gun out of the holster looped around his shoulder. As he cocks it, he mutters, “I swear to god, I’m gonna murder Wonwoo when we get back.”

“Leave the murdering for the bad guys, Jihoon,” Seungcheol says lowly, throwing Jihoon a wry grin. The dip of his dimples is almost lost to the dim lighting, but Jihoon has memorized the expression by now.

“You say that as if we weren’t the bad guys.”

“We’re not the ones brainwashing innocent dogs!”

Instead of replying, Jihoon only sighs.

They creep down the hall together, silent and stealthy with measured steps. Another gunshot blasts through the door and it collapses. Just as a figure appears in the doorway, both Jihoon and Seungcheol hold up their weapons and point them at the entrance.

“Don’t move,” Seungcheol warns.

The person before them curses under their breath.

Moonlight shines in through the entrance, and as the figure tilts its head, the silver light illuminates its face just enough to reveal the culprit.

“Sangeun,” Jihoon spits.

Despite the early-winter chill, Sangeun sweats as he stares down the barrel of not only one but two guns.

“J-Jihoon... sir,” Sangeun replies. A smile wiggles its way onto his lips as he slowly brings his hands up. One of his hands is occupied with a shotgun, but Sangeun makes a show of removing his finger from the trigger.

“Listen,” Seungcheol starts, “you’re outnumbered and I don’t have the patience to deal with whatever bullshit’s running through that thick skull of yours. If you answer my questions calmly, then we can do this without getting messy, understand?”

“O-Okay,” Sangeun says.

“Put the gun down first,” Jihoon commands.

Sangeun glances at the weapon in his grip as if he is surprised to see it there.

“This gun?” he asks.

“Don’t play dumb— _hey!”_

In one swift motion, Sangeun points his gun in Jihoon and Seugncheol’s direction and fires. Jihoon’s shout acts as an efficient warning, however, and both of them roll out of the way. The distance between Sangeun and their bodies helps, too, and they get away unscathed.

Seungcheol does not hesitate to retaliate: he aims at Sangeun’s foot and fires. The first shot misses as Sangeun makes a run for it, but Jihoon rolls forward to compensate for the motion. He catches Sangeun’s shin and Sangeun collapses immediately, crying out in pain.

A stormy glower distorts Seungcheol’s face as he approaches Sangeun with long strides. Sangeun’s too busy writhing on the floor to notice Seungcheol’s foot rising, and he barely has the air to spare when Seungcheol drops his shoe against Sangeun’s chest.

“If you didn’t owe us money, you’d be fucking dead by now, you know that?” Seungcheol hisses. “Actually, on second thought, no—that’s incorrect. You did something far worse than run away from us.”

“Hyung…” Jihoon starts. He lets his words trail off into a sigh instead of pursuing the matter; at least the guy’s incapacitated now. They have all the time in the world to worry about the dogs waiting for them.

“Y-You don’t understand,” Sangeun wheezes, “I did—I just did what I had to! I didn’t have the money, and—”

“I don’t care about the money right now!” Seungcheol bellows. His voice echoes in the urban wasteland surrounding them, a mighty roar from an angered beast. “That was mistake number one—we came here to talk, remember? I could have given you an extension if you needed it.”

Sangeun wheezes again, but he fails to string together any comprehensive sounds. There are tears in his eyes now, and the smell of blood begins to permeate the atmosphere.

“You’re a fucking coward,” Seungcheol continues lowly. “Never did I tell you that you were facing an immovable deadline. But,” Seungcheol pauses to sneer, “now you’ve really pissed me off. Luckily for you, I need you alive right now.”

With a sniffle, Sangeun manages to gather just enough air to speak, “Wh-Why?”

Seungcheol leans down, bearing his weight down on Sangeun’s chest. Sangeun whimpers, his eyes fluttering, but he fights to keep them open.

“I need you to call off those dogs,” Seungcheol says. “In fact, you’re gonna calm them down, then you’re gonna hand them off to me. Then I’ll figure out whether or not I want you alive.”

“O-Okay,” Sangeun whispers.

“Jihoon-ah,” Seungcheol calls, straightening up.

Jihoon comes to his side without a moment of hesitation.

“Patch up his leg. We need him up and ready to deal with those poor pups,” Seungcheol says.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Jihoon crouches by Sangeun and gets to work.

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god!” Mingyu cries. His eyes light up as soon as he sees the three dogs at Hansol’s side. “Puppies!”

Hansol laughs. “Dude, these are some grownass dogs,” he says, but he doesn’t make a move to stop Mingyu as he rushes up to pet the dogs.

The dogs in question are drugged and sluggish. They tilt their heads questioningly as Mingyu bends to scratch them behind the ears.

“Who’s a cute little puppy? Who’s the cutest little puppy ever?” Mingyu coos. He wiggles his fingers and the dogs stare at him, unresponsive.

Pouting a little, Mingyu straightens up. “Are they okay?” he asks, turning to Hansol.

“They’re just drugged,” Hansol replies as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. A grin stretches his mouth not a moment later as he adds, “But we’re gonna take them to the vet tomorrow to get them looked at. You’re coming, right?”

Mingyu beams. “You don’t even need to ask!”

“Okay, so Jeonghan’s on his way with the van,” Seungcheol states, approaching the group as he lowers his phone from his face, “and Chan seems excited to meet the dogs.”

Jihoon quirks an eyebrow at their leader. “Are you making a field trip out of your trip to the vet?”

“No,” Seungcheol replies slowly. A sheepish grin curves his mouth as he continues, “well, I mean, we can’t crowd the doctor’s office. _But_ anyone who wants to go to the pet store to buy supplies with me can come if they want.”

Hansol and Mingyu cheer. Junhui comes around from behind their parked getaway vehicle, wiping blood off his hands with a washcloth.

“Are we throwing Sangeun in the van with the dogs then, boss?” Junhui asks.

Seungcheol sighs and shrugs. “I _guess_ ,” he says. Frowning, he casts the dogs a concerned look. “Though I don’t want to traumatize them any further.”

“We could just put him in the trunk,” Jihoon replies, pointing to Mingyu’s car.

“What!” Mingyu exclaims. “No way! Unless you’re offering to clean up afterwards…?”

Jihoon glances up at Seungcheol, who’s currently busy with his phone.

With a low sigh, Jihoon crosses his arms over his chest. “I guess I am,” he mutters.

“Wow! Okay!” Mingyu goes over to Junhui and slings an arm over his shoulders. “Let’s go move the body then, hyung!”

Junhui gives a wry smile as they head back towards the trunk. “Don’t sound so excited, Mingyu.”

“But Jihoon-hyung’s the best at cleaning blood stains! You know it’d take him half the time to clean the trunk than if I did it. It’ll be, like, _super_ thorough.”

Their chattering fades away as they take care of transporting Sangeun’s beat-up—but alive—body.

Jihoon chances another glance at Seungcheol. Their boss is currently trying to play with the dazed dogs, waving around a piece of Hansol’s beef jerky. The sight is enough to coax a small smile onto Jihoon’s mouth.

Just as the expression crosses Jihoon’s face, Seungcheol looks up. He smiles back. Jihoon grumbles unintelligible words under his breath as he ducks away and into the car.


	4. Act One: Chapter Four - Staying Awake

Private Chat: J2

[  **obtuse angel** ]:  
_shua-ya_

[  **obtuse angel** ]:  
_why are you still awake_

[  **The Hong™** ]:  
_go to sleep hannie_

[  **obtuse angel** ]:  
_shua it’s almost 4am_

 

When Jisoo doesn’t reply, Jeonghan slips out of bed. The door across from his—Jisoo’s—is still open, although the light is off.

Jeonghan rubs the sleep out of his eyes before grabbing the nearest hoodie and pulling it over his head. His fingers catch in the sleeves a few times; his fatigue makes his limbs heavy and his movements slow.

Still, he can’t imagine that Jisoo is faring any better. That thought is enough to move his feet down the stairs. He follows the light down the hall to the kitchen. There he finds Jisoo, his head in one hand and a cup in the other. The lingering smell of coffee in the air tells Jeonghan that Jisoo plans to be up for a while.

“Shua-ya,” Jeonghan says. His voice is hoarse as it rattles his throat, but the sound is sudden enough to draw Jisoo’s attention.

When Jisoo looks up, his eyes are bloodshot and the lines at the corners are wiry. His expression softens when he identifies the intruder as Jeonghan, and then he returns to the computer in front of him.

“Go to sleep, Jeonghanie,” Jisoo murmurs in reply.

For a while, only the clicks of Jisoo’s mouse and keyboard fill the air. Jeonghan eventually finds his feet again and takes a seat next to Jisoo.

“Why are you still up?” Jeonghan asks.

“Working,” Jisoo replies tersely.

Jeonghan sighs. “Well, obviously.” Closing his eyes, Jeonghan moves to rest his head in the crook of Jisoo’s shoulder. “What are you working on?” Jeonghan elaborates.

Huffing a breath, Jisoo leans away from his computer. As he raises his mug to his lips, he jostles Jeonghan a little bit, but he shifts again to accommodate Jeonghan’s weight.

“Settling accounts,” Jisoo says once he lowers his mug. “Normally this wouldn’t be difficult work,” Jisoo continues, “but the person I’m negotiating with keeps throwing around slang that I don’t understand. I think he picked up that Korean is my second language.”

Sitting up, Jeonghan levels a questioning look at Jisoo. “So why didn’t you ask us for help?” he asks.

Jisoo doesn’t meet Jeonghan’s eye. He takes a moment to drink more of his coffee.

“I thought I could use it as a learning experience,” Jisoo replies. His eyes remain on his cup as he replaces it on the table.

“Liar,” Jeonghan accuses, but the word is soft as it slips out from between his lips.

A wry smile warps Jisoo’s mouth. “Fine,” he admits. “I didn’t want to… bother any of you guys.”

“So you didn’t think that being cranky after staying up all night wouldn’t bother us?” Jeonghan asks. Although Jeonghan keeps his tone low and playful, Jisoo’s expression remains tense.

“Don’t you think I’d know how to do this by now?” Jisoo asks, finally looking up to catch Jeonghan’s gaze. “I’m just…” He trails off and sighs. “I’m sick of not knowing anything.”

“Hey,” Jeonghan calls. He cuffs the back of Jisoo’s head with a gentle hand. “Don’t be like that. You know a ton of things. That’s why you’re handling his job out of everyone here. And there’s thirteen of us, you know.”

Jisoo sighs again. In turn, Jeonghan cups his hand and cradles the back of Jisoo’s head.

“I know,” Jisoo mumbles.

“It doesn’t sound like you know.”

“I know,” Jisoo says again.

Scoffing, Jeonghan cuffs Jisoo’s head again.

“Will you stop hitting me?” Jisoo asks.

“Only when I can finally beat some sense into you.”

Jisoo rolls his eyes. Jeonghan cups his head again.

“Don’t be so hot and cold,” Jisoo sighs, moving his head from Jeonghan’s hand to his shoulder. He presses his face into Jeonghan’s body heat and hums.

“I’ve gotta keep you on your toes.”

“You’re annoying.”

Jeonghan pats Jisoo’s back. The gesture transforms into a gentle half hug as Jeonghan reaches for Jisoo’s coffee with his free hand. Jisoo makes a noise of complaint, but Jeonghan takes a sip anyway.

“Damn, it’s cold already,” Jeonghan mutters against the cup. He takes another sip.

“I think I made it like an hour ago,” Jisoo replies, his voice muffled against Jeonghan’s sweater.

“You’re a heathen, drinking cold coffee.”

“What, you want me to waste it?”

Jeonghan downs the rest of it before settling it on the table with a faint clatter.

“Listen,” Jeonghan starts, “I’ll make you more coffee and we can tackle this together. Okay?”

Jisoo makes an unintelligible noise.

“Jisoo,” Jeonghan says, and his tone takes on a surprisingly sharp edge to it considering Jeonghan’s level of fatigue and Jisoo’s position cradled in his arm.

Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Jisoo sits up. Jeonghan feels the absence of warmth immediately, but it motivates him to shoot Jisoo a warning look.

“Fine,” Jisoo grouses.

As Jeonghan stands, he ruffles Jisoo’s hair.

“Was that so hard?” Jeonghan asks.

“Yes,” Jisoo replies immediately. “You’re really bruising my ego here.”

“What are friends for?”

It’s easy for Jeonghan to dance out of Jisoo’s reach when he starts throwing punches.

 

* * *

 

At the crack of dawn, Seungcheol throws on clothes fit to fight off the early-morning chill before he steps out of the house. He rounds the outside corner and approaches a shed. As he comes closer, he can already hear pitiful scrabbling and whining. When he opens the shed door, he’s almost knocked clean onto his back.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, keeping his voice down in an attempt to maintain the still quiet of the morning. “It’s okay now. You’re okay.”

He hushes the poor dogs and tries his best to tend to all of them at once; he only has so many hands. Eventually, they seem persuaded by his soft tone and attentive hands and they reach some state of calm.

When Seungcheol was growing up back in Daegu, his family had a dog. It was a mutt they’d adopted because the boys were begging for a dog. Seungcheol loved that dog with all his heart, and he misses it from time to time.

Before he’d gotten caught up in all this _crime business,_ he’d been saving up to get a dog. Sometimes it was tough living alone. Plus, it was always nice to give a lost animal a new home.

Seungcheol takes the dogs for a walk, though it becomes a light jog within minutes. He laughs at their vibrant energy and forgets the state of his life for a while.

It all comes crashing back to him when he returns to base and finds Jihoon sorting through weapons in the backroom attached to the dogs’ shed.

Panting, Seungcheol slicks his hair out of his face and returns the dogs to their temporary living space. Jihoon looks up at him from across the room and his eyes trail over Seungcheol’s features with the ease of habit. There’s nothing especially warm about the look: it is mechanical, systematic, a routine Jihoon walks through every time they meet again after parting even for just a moment.

Seungcheol supposes the principle of the ritual is warm in itself—but he is also hesitant to be so generous to himself.

Jihoon lowers his head again once he’s satisfied. Seungcheol crosses into the next room, closing the door behind him quietly.

“How are they doing?” Jihoon asks. The question is entirely conversational; Seungcheol knows Jihoon doesn’t give a damn about the dogs. It’s a cute gesture.

“Better, now,” Seungcheol replies. He approaches Jihoon’s side and takes stock of the array of weapons laid out on the table before them. “Are these being shipped out today?”

Jihoon nods and hums his affirmation. “Chan and Soonyoung are coming with me,” he says. “We were thinking of doing a trade in addition to this.”

Jihoon’s fingers still over the barrel of an assault rifle. He looks up at Seungcheol and asks, “do you want to come?”

Seungcheol cracks a small smile. “Nah. I trust you.”

Jihoon holds Seungcheol’s gaze for a second, but it’s not long before he returns to his task.

“You should probably double check the details of the order before we leave, though,” Jihoon says lowly, his voice caught against his chest as he speaks with his head bowed. “Maybe even sign something, just in case.”

“Hey,” Seungcheol starts, “it’s just Mark. He knows you.”

Biting his lip, Jihoon casts his gaze to the side. “Still,” he mutters, “you know how it is with those NCT kids. Constantly switching out with even younger kids—they might not take me seriously.”

“Maybe they’ll think you’re one of them, then they’ll be more inclined to trust you.”

Jihoon scowls. He raises his head to spit out some smart remark, but he is interrupted by loud, sharp barking.

Both Jihoon and Seungcheol turn to look at the door closing off the dog shed.

“I’ll be back,” Seungcheol says, and he goes off to attend to the dogs. They’re still restless and nervous, and being cooped up doesn’t help any. Seungcheol knows he shouldn’t keep them boxed in like this for too long, but there’s only so much he can do.

He texts Hansol and manages to pawn them off to him for the time being.

When Seungcheol returns to the backroom, Jihoon has started packing the weapons into steel cases.

“Are you sure it’s okay to keep them here?” Jihoon asks without looking up. He’s referring to the dogs.

“What else am I supposed to do? Put them up for adoption?” Seungcheol asks. “They’d rip everything to shreds.”

“They’ll rip _you_ to shreds at this rate,” Jihoon grumbles. “Or they’ll end up in something they shouldn’t and then we’ll have three dead dogs on our hands. In pieces, maybe.”

“Hey,” Seungcheol warns. “Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking,” Jihoon replies, finally looking up. “If they’re… important to you, then maybe…”

Jihoon trails off. He shuts the case he’s handling with a tense _click._

It takes Seungcheol some time to think of a good response. He goes with the truth, in the end—no point in beating around the bush when it comes to Jihoon.

“They _are_ important to me,” Seungcheol says slowly. He can feel Jihoon’s eyes boring holes into his skull. “But if I let them go, then… it would have all been for nothing, you know?” Seungcheol stares at a spot on the concrete floor. “They—they make me feel normal again, even for just a little while.”

Silence sprouts and blooms in the room. Leaves and petals alike crowd the space in Seungcheol’s lungs as he waits for a reply.

“Okay,” Jihoon says eventually. His eyes drift around the room, contemplative. “Maybe we should set up shifts to, like, babysit them or whatever.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows fly towards his hairline. “Are you sure?” he asks.

Jihoon runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. When he looks up and meets Seungcheol’s eyes, however, his gaze sparks with a certain resolve.

“They could be a valuable resource,” Jihoon says. He pulls the sleeve of one arm over his hand before doing the same to the other. “And the kids love them. Pets are… nice sometimes.”

A grin stretches Seungcheol’s face before he has time to think about anything at all. He feels the urge to slot his arms around Jihoon’s waist and dance him around the room, but he uses the sudden rush of energy thrumming under his skin to kill the idea before it grows legs and runs away from him.

Jihoon quirks an eyebrow, a small smile of his own creeping along his lips. “Don’t get any ideas now, boss,” he says, amusement on the edges of his words. “Have you even had your coffee yet?”

“Nope,” Seungcheol chimes. He bounds over to Jihoon’s side and grabs his wrist. “Come on,” he urges, “I’ll put on a pot for both of us.”

Scoffing, Jihoon lets himself get dragged outside. “Whatever you say, hyung.”

 

* * *

 

Once Hansol takes the dogs for another jog around the perimeter, he returns to base and finds Seungkwan waiting for him with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re late,” he informs Hansol.

Hansol shrugs as he closes the dog shed behind him. “The boss asked me to take care of the dogs,” he replies.

“You could have said something!”

“Guess it slipped my mind.” A yawn interrupts Hansol’s speech, and he just barely manages to cover his mouth with his hand.

Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Seungkwan reaches out and grabs Hansol’s wrist. Hansol gives no protest as he’s dragged out back, where their usual shooting setup awaits them. It consists of a few beat up cardboard targets and a barrier separating the shooter from the targets.

Hansol has been dealing with guns for a while. A few years, in fact. He can handle guns from pistols to assault rifles. Obviously that makes him the perfect candidate to teach Seungkwan about shooting, right?

Not exactly.

When it comes to actually _explaining_ things, Hansol falls a bit short. Relaying concepts usually ends up with Hansol gesturing vaguely with his hands and saying the word “thing” too many times in one go.

It doesn’t help that Seungkwan isn’t exactly the easiest guy to please.

They’re still on handguns. Hansol doesn’t want Seungkwan to even think about bigger guns until he’s comfortable with the small stuff, and luckily for both of them, Seungkwan agrees. While Seungkwan hasn’t exactly mastered Hansol’s suggested weapon of choice, a Glock pistol, he seems impatient to move onto something different.

Hansol still has the Glock on the table, but he has another handgun with him since Seungkwan seems so intent on trying something new.

“Okay, here’s something homegrown,” Hansol says, pulling a Daewoo DP51 out of its case. He proceeds to explain all of its pieces and how to load it. He pops out the magazine once he finishes and hands the weapon to Seungkwan to imitate him.

Seungkwan chews on his bottom lip for a second, staring at the gun and the magazine. His gestures are slow, hesitant, but eventually he manages to push the magazine back into the weapon.

“Good,” Hansol praises. Seungkwan give him a shaky smile.

The thing about teaching Seungkwan about shooting is that Hansol gets to see how unsuited Seungkwan is for this kind of lifestyle. There’s something soft about Seungkwan despite his sharp silver tongue, and part of Hansol wants to preserve that softness until his last breath.

It’s a stupid sentiment—softness on his part, too—but he can’t help it. Not when Seungkwan’s arms shake as he raises the weapon, not when Seungkwan stumbles with the kick, not when Seungkwan’s shot misses entirely.

“Dammit,” Seungkwan mutters under his breath. Something wooden cracks in the distance, and then a flock of birds rises into the air in a display of panic.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hansol says, putting a hand on Seungkwan’s shoulder. He feels the tremor in Seungkwan’s body immediately, and it’s not long before Seungkwan tries to shake him off.

“I hate being bad at shit,” Seungkwan mumbles.

Hansol chuckles. “Same here,” he replies.

Seungkwan turns to him, pouting. “But you’re good at this!”

“Yeah, after tons and tons of practice. You’re not gonna be good at this right away, Seungkwan,” Hansol says in what he hopes is an assuring tone of voice. He resists the urge to pat Seungkwan’s back: the last time he did that, he was almost pistol whipped.

“But I want to be,” Seungkwan says, sullen. He turns back to the targets and fires a few more shots.

“Finish the clip, then we can take a break,” Hansol tells him.

“Okay…”

Seungkwan’s first few shots are cautious and hesitant. He manages to clip the shoulder of one of the targets, and when he does, he turns and beams at Hansol with an excited smile.

“Nice,” Hansol says.

Pleased, Seungkwan turns back to the targets and fires a few more shots. He grows more confident with every bullet, but he only manages to graze a target’s hip by the time he finishes the clip in the magazine.

“Not bad for your first time,” Hansol says, approaching Seungkwan’s side to relieve him of the gun. Seungkwan’s hands are shaking as he passes Hansol the weapon, and he shoves them into his pockets as Hansol pulls out the empty magazine.

“How was this compared to the Glock?” Hansol asks.

“Heavier,” Seungkwan replies. He stares at the ground as he contemplates the question. “Like, way heavier,” he adds, “and it fired differently. I don’t really know how to describe it…”

Chuckling, Hansol puts the safety back on before he sets the gun to the side. “That’s fine,” Hansol tells him, “just as long as you notice the differences at all.”

Seungkwan’s eyes are heavy and nervous on Hansol, watching as Hansol goes through the motions of keeping the equipment tidy.

“What’s your favourite kind of gun?” Seungkwan asks.

Hansol hums in thought. “Well, it depends on the kind of job,” Hansol says after a while, “so, I guess in that case… I don’t really have a favourite.”

Huffing a sigh, Seungkwan crosses his arms before he elaborates, “okay, well, outside of a job, then. Shooting for the sake of it. People do it for recreation and stuff sometimes, right?”

“True. Then, uh…” A small frown tugs at Hansol’s mouth. “Well, I don’t really _like_ shooting for the sake of it,” he replies.

“So you don’t practice outside of work?”

“Well, I didn’t say that.”

Seungkwan quirks a single eyebrow. “Okay, so let me rephrase _again:_ what’s the first gun you reach for when you’re practising?”

“I usually practice shooting all kinds of guns just to make sure I’m still in practice.”

Seungkwan looks about ready to throw his hands in defeat when Hansol adds, “okay, geez—usually a pistol. The Glock’s comfortable since I’ve used it for a while, so I’ll usually warm up with that.”

“So,” Seungkwan starts, both eyebrows raised now, “you’re teaching me how to use your favourite gun first?”

Hansol looks at the gun lying next to the DP51. “I guess so,” he says. “I never thought about it like that.”

There’s a small smile on Seungkwan’s face when Hansol looks up again. “Of course you didn’t,” Seungkwan says.

“On big jobs I like submachine guns,” Hansol continues, “because they’re not as heavy duty as assault rifles, but they can cover a lot of space quickly.”

“Okay, you’re losing me now.” Seungkwan swats at Hansol’s shoulder. “Have you eaten yet?” he asks.

“Oh, uh. No, actually,” Hansol replies. “When the boss told me to take out the dogs, I kinda forgot about eating.”

Shaking his index finger, Seungkwan clicks his tongue. “That won’t do.”

Hansol aims a crooked smile at his companion. “Okay, I know what you’re trying to do here. Listen, let’s go through one more clip and then we can go eat together. Alright?”

Seungkwan beams. “Give me something to think about as motivation. What’s in the fridge?”

“Leftovers, probably.”

Seungkwan makes a noise of disgust. “No, come on, that’s not how you play this game. Leftovers are bland and boring.”

“But what if it’s leftover kimchi fried rice?”

“Better, but not super convincing,” Seungkwan replies, humming thoughtfully.

“Beef?” Hansol tries. “Pork belly?”

“Ooh, now that’s more like it. Okay.” Seungkwan reaches for the magazine and pops it back into the gun. “I’m ready.”

The break doesn’t help Seungkwan’s aim at all. The gun’s mechanism still overpowers his hold, and he only manages to clip a target once or twice. Grumbling in frustration, Seungkwan pops the magazine out with too much force and it ends up on the ground.

“Hey,” Hansol starts, but Seungkwan’s grumbling grows in volume as Hansol approaches. Hansol goes for the magazine nonetheless, and their hands close over the piece of equipment at the same time.

“Hansol, I don’t need you to literally hold my hand for this,” Seungkwan whines. He makes a show of extracting Hansol’s hand from the magazine, but instead of letting go, Seungkwan holds onto Hansol’s hand with his free one.

“Let’s just get food and clean up after,” Seungkwan urges him. With that pout and that warm grip around Hansol’s hand, who is he to say no?

 

* * *

 

When Soonyoung pokes his head into Chan’s room, Chan is slumped over on his desk with his day clothes still on.

“Channie,” Soonyoung murmurs, stepping into the room slowly.

Chan doesn’t stir.

“Channie,” Soonyoung tries again, his voice a quiet song that bounces gently in the room.

When Chan doesn’t stir a second time, Soonyoung sighs and approaches him. He sets his hands none too gently on Chan’s sleeping frame and Chan reacts instantly, sitting up fast enough that he almost bashes Soonyoung’s nose with the back of his skull.

“Wha—?” Chan asks. He whips his head around in search of the wake-up call. “What’s—? Oh!” He turns and looks up at Soonyoung with bleary eyes. “Hyung! Wh-What’s up?”

“The sun,” Soonyoung replies, feeling the tension ease out of his body now that Chan’s head doesn’t threaten his well-being. He kneads his fingers into Chan’s shoulders as he continues, “it’s past nine already. We’re meeting NCT with Jihoon at noon, remember?”

Chan deflates. As Soonyoung continues his gentle massage, Chan begins to lean into the touch.

“Right,” Chan sighs. “Sorry. I was just… I might have stayed up a bit late working on some stuff.”

“What stuff?” Soonyoung asks. He leans over Chan’s shoulder to take a look at the papers Chan had previously been sleeping on.

Chan yawns. “School stuff,” he says. He turns around again and begins to shuffle the papers into a loose pile. “I have a report due at the end of the week.”

“Oh.” Soonyoung moves to lean against the front of Chan’s desk so that he can face his dongsaeng straight-on. “Hey,” he starts, “you don’t have to come with us if you need to catch up on sleep.”

Chan shakes his head with energy Soonyoung isn’t expecting considering the state of his eyes only a moment ago.

“No, I want to go! I want to see what kind of weapons they have,” Chan explains. “Plus, I think it’s important I show up and, like, you know…” his voice trails off as he looks somewhere over Soonyoung’s shoulder. “Establish my presence or whatever.”

Soonyoung leans forward and puts both hands on Chan’s shoulders. Chan looks up at him. The bags under his eyes are heavy and dark, but the determination in his eyes is bright and sharp.

“It’s your decision,” Soonyoung tells him, “and if you want to come, then come. But the moment your studies or your involvement with the crew’s activities start to affect your health… you need to step back.” Soonyoung swallows a sudden lump in his throat and pastes a crooked smile on his face. “No naps on the field.”

Chan nods again, more slowly this time. Soonyoung is certain that Chan understands the risks involved with their field of work, but Soonyoung figures he ought to be a good hyung whenever he gets the opportunity to do so.

The smile on Soonyoung’s face takes on a few more shades of sincerity as Soonyoung leans back. He ruffles Chan’s hair.

“Come on,” Soonyoung says, “let’s get some coffee in you. I think it’s your best shot at being in your head by the time we get to their place.”

Chan hurries to follow Soonyoung. His chair screeches as he gets to his feet and says, “Okay, hyung!”


	5. Act One: Chapter Five - Surprise Part 1

Seungcheol has been the boss of his crew for over a year now. He didn’t rise to his position by himself; he can’t imagine doing anything in this business by himself. Unlike some of the other members in the crew, Seungcheol wasn’t raised to flourish in this type of lifestyle. It was forced on him—but that’s a story for another time.

Seoul is a large city with a large population. There is no way Seungcheol’s crew can handle owning and maintaining the _entire_ city. Seungcheol never thought of taking over all of Seoul, though he did make the right choice in befriending several other gang leaders. They were charmed by his earnest attitude and impressed by his ability to fill in the shoes of a leader so well with so little experience. They likened him to a little brother and gave him pointers and tips whenever they could.

Private Chat: Ringmaster and Punmaster

[  **Punmaster** ]:  
_hey boss just got a message from sowon-noona_

[  **Ringmaster** ]:  
_yeah? something bad?_

[  **Punmaster** ]:  
_i don’t think so? some of it is in code i think, or just really weird metaphors, so i think you should have a look at it yourself_

When Seungcheol heads down to Wonwoo’s den, Wonwoo pulls up a message in simple text. Although it’s generally safer to handle communication in person, there’s hardly time to arrange things in a convenient manner. Everything sent digitally is encrypted, of course. Seungcheol thinks Wonwoo uses this mode of communication as a creative outlet.

 

> _“To: SEVENTEEN_  
>  _We’ve seen some brown smeared around five p.m. with the shadows on the left and two and a half valleys in_ _  
> It’s all still soft and the smell is ok so far, but I’d look into it_
> 
> _Best wishes,_ _  
> _ _GF”_

“You guys like toilet humour?” Wonwoo asks, an eyebrow raised.

“You like puns, you can’t talk,” Seungcheol shoots back.

Balancing his weight on Wonwoo’s desk, Seungcheol squints at the message displayed on the screen. Beside him, Wonwoo leans back in his chair and observes his leader.

“So, is that, like, supposed to be a… place? A time?” Wonwoo hazards. “I couldn’t make any sense of it.”

Seungcheol waves a hand. He can’t explain it to Wonwoo, even if Wonwoo is their intel guy. As nonsensical as it seems, each word in that message carries a certain meaning, and strung together like that, they paint a picture. If Seungcheol’s memory serves him right, the particular place described in the message is a convenience store on the edge of the downtown area. It’s a high traffic area with suburbs on one side and industrial buildings on the other.

“It’s a place,” Seungcheol replies slowly. Humming, he steps away from Wonwoo’s console.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow again, but he doesn’t say anything. For the moment, he seems content to watch the gears in Seungcheol’s head turn.

“Send me the text,” Seungcheol tells him, “I’m gonna make a note of it on my phone.”

“Roger that, boss.”

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol’s passing through the kitchen of base #2 when Mingyu steps into his path with a slight bow of his head.

“Boss,” he starts, “got something for you.”

Mingyu digs into his pocket and produces a slightly crooked note.

“I was hanging out with Jungkook today, and when his hyungs came to pick him up, Suga-hyung gave me this and told me to give it to you,” Mingyu explains.

Seungcheol looks at Mingyu’s outstretched hand for a second—not too long to cause suspicion, but long enough to appraise it. Then he takes the notes and begins to unfold it with exaggerated slowness.

“Where’d you guys go?” Seungcheol asks without looking up. He can still see Mingyu’s expression over the top of the paper—he’s a tall guy—and he manages to suppress a smile when Mingyu’s face flushes just slightly.

“Just got dinner at the chicken place down the street,” Mingyu mutters. “He, uh, he offered to pay for me, though. It was really nice of him, actually.”

“Real nice,” Seungcheol echoes, now focusing his full attention on the note.

At the top of the page, there are a few scribbles indicating the writer was trying to test their pen’s ink. Seungcheol squints at it for a while to make sure it’s not actually writing. The body of the message reads:

> _“Yah, Seungcheol,_  
>  _Watch out for shadows on the left of five p.m. about two and a half valleys in_  
>  _I think it’s been about two weeks since things started getting interesting, but I’d give it some more time to grow_  
>  _Try not to trip on the roots_  
>  _  
> _ _Don’t die any time soon, ok?_ _  
> RM+BTS”_

When he finishes reading, Seungcheol hums. In front of him, Mingyu shifts from foot to foot. Seungcheol tries his best to keep his expression neutral when receiving messages from other gangs, but their relationship with BTS is still new, still fresh and young and vulnerable, and Mingyu has been in the centre of a lot of their attempts to reach out to the members of BTS.

Seungcheol folds the note the exact way it had been handed to him.

“Boss?” Mingyu asks.

“It’s a warning,” Seungcheol tells him. He flips the piece of paper between his fingers for a moment. “Similar to the one Sowon gave us.”

“Oh.”

Seungcheol looks up at Mingyu and claps a hand to his shoulder. The sudden contact makes Mingyu jump a bit, but he softens soon after.

“We might have to be on the lookout for something,” Seungcheol says. “But don’t worry about it too much.”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair and nods.

Seungcheol grins. “Good. Now, tell me about that date with Jungkook.”

The flush returns to Mingyu’s face and it only intensifies as Seungcheol wraps an arm around his waist and steers him to the nearest seat.

 

* * *

 

Huffing a sigh, Seungcheol wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. There’s a hint of smoke in the air. His rifle is heavy in his hand when he lowers it.

_“Breathtakingly, bing bing; in my head, bing bing; hug me softly ye—”_

Ignoring Jihoon’s unimpressed look and Jeonghan’s smirk, Seungcheol fishes his phone out of his pocket and presses _accept call_ without even looking at it.

“You call yourself the leader of a gang and yet you leave your phone on during a job?” Jihoon asks.

“At least the job’s done,” Jeonghan adds, laughing quietly.

 _“Hey boss,”_ Junhui says to him over the line, _“I know you’re on a job, and apparently left your phone on—say hi to Jihoonie for me—but I ran into some of those Monsta X guys when I was walking the dogs—”_

“How’s Wonho?” Seungcheol asks sweetly.

Junhui pauses. He swallows. When he picks up where he left off, his voice is perfectly level, _“he’s well, thanks. I’ll let him know you were thinking of him. But anyway, the reason I’m calling and not texting is that they gave me a note. They said I was free to read it if I wanted to, but I don’t really get what it means. Thought you might want to know.”_

Seungcheol lowers his phone from his ear and smiles at Jihoon. “Junhui says hi,” Seungcheol tells him.

Jihoon lifts an eyebrow before resuming his work with disposing the dead body on their hands. Jeonghan mumbles a complaint about Seungcheol’s shitty, messy work and Jihoon hums his agreement.

“Assholes,” Seungcheol grumbles to himself. “Okay, cool,” he says once he has returned the phone to his ear, “thanks for letting me know. I’m going to assume it’s not incredibly urgent since you sound pretty calm.”

_“Well, I don’t know how urgent it is because I don’t understand what it even means. I’m hoping it’s nothing too scary, but it was signed by Shownu, so. Does that raise any red flags over there?”_

That makes this the third message from a fellow gang leader. Seungcheol wouldn’t necessarily brag about his intelligence, but he has a bit of insight up his sleeve, and it’s telling him that these little notes aren’t some coincidence.

Seungcheol bites down a sigh. “Is there anything about time on it?” Seungcheol asks.

 _“It mentions ‘five p.m.’, but not any specific dates or anything,”_ Junhui answers. _“I didn’t even know there were valleys in Seoul.”_

It’s been two weeks since Seungcheol received the last note. Mingyu has gone out with Jungkook again since then, but came back with nothing but a shy smile and an odd look from Wonwoo. There have been no further updates from GFriend, either.

Seungcheol hopes they’re just being cautious. Why bother sending him warnings if they had any intentions to throw him under a bus?

“Okay,” Seungcheol says calmly, slowly. “Okay. I guess it’ll have to wait until I’m back.” No point in distracting himself on the way back to base.

_“Alright. See you then, boss. I’ll leave the note with Wonwoo so he can file it away or whatever. You know. Paperwork stuff.”_

“I know,” Seungcheol replies around a chuckle.

_“Cool. Stay safe. Bye.”_

Seungcheol is almost expecting an ‘I love you’ at the end of that—it wouldn’t be the first time it happened with any combination of their members, though Jisoo and Chan are the most common culprits—but Junhui hangs up without another word.

When Seungcheol looks up again, Jihoon and Jeonghan have already shoved the body into a bag. It sits slumped against the wall with smears of blood left in its wake.

“Sorry,” Seungcheol says.

“About what? Leaving your phone on? Leaving us to do all the work?” Jihoon starts.

“You could have just put it on speakerphone,” Jeonghan informs him.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes.

“Or leaving us with such a messy body?” Jihoon finishes.

Rolling his eyes again, Seungcheol waves his hands. “You done?” he asks.

Jihoon purses his lips and looks skyward, contemplative.

“I wasn’t being serious,” Seungcheol says before Jihoon can open his mouth.

Smiling one of his negotiation smiles, something on the placating spectrum Seungcheol guesses, Jeonghan wraps an arm around Jihoon’s shoulders. Then he gestures at Seungcheol with his free hand.

“Jeonghan-hyung,” Jihoon says, a warning hanging sharp on the edges of his words.

Seungcheol licks his lips and tastes salt and grime.

“Come on, guys, let’s bring it in,” Jeonghan says in a warm tone. Seungcheol figures Jeonghan means for it to be welcoming, but Seungcheol feels a shiver crawl over his skin instead.

“Um—” Seungcheol starts, but Jeonghan beats him to whatever it is his brain was trying to force out. Jeonghan’s free arm grabs Seungcheol’s wrist and pulls him into the group hug, which, at that moment, is more like a stiff huddle.

“No arguing on a job,” Jeonghan admonishes them, “especially not when you both have live weapons.”

Jihoon mumbles something incomprehensible before wiggling out of Jeonghan’s grip. His head is bowed as he begins to drag the body bag away.

Lifting an eyebrow, Jeonghan sends Seungcheol a pointed look. Normally, decoding this sort of nonverbal communication isn’t much of a problem for Seungcheol, but he can’t focus properly, not when his head is still trying to make meaning of the warnings. Jihoon’s cold attitude doesn’t help, either.

“Go help him,” Jeonghan eventually hisses.

Seungcheol doesn’t need to be told twice.

 

* * *

 

Out of all the members, Seokmin and Seungkwan are the best at acting like civilians. Jisoo is a very close third, but his Korean sometimes gives him away as a foreigner and draws unwanted attention. For this particular job, it’s not worth the risk.

Soonyoung walks between the two of them as they pay a visit to the convenience store mentioned in the notes. He’s the only one with a firearm, and he’d been given orders to use it only if the situation became dire.

“I don’t like him,” Seungkwan sniffs.

“You don’t like any of the guys your sisters talk about,” Seokmin replies with a gentle smile.

“They met at a coffee shop! There’s something really suspicious about cliches, you know!” Seungkwan cries.

Soonyoung grabs one of Seungkwan’s flailing arms and lowers it. “Chill out, dude,” he says.

Seungkwan yanks his arm out of Soonyoung’s grip. When Soonyoung pouts immediately after, Seungkwan heaves an exaggerated sigh and takes Soonyoung’s hand into one of his own.

“Whatever,” Seungkwan mutters. “I guess I’ll found out whether or not this guy is worthy of her sooner or later.”

“Anyway,” Soonyoung starts, picking up the conversation quickly, “I think I’m gonna get something to eat while we’re here. Anyone want anything?”

“Sure,” Seokmin says, “as long as you’re paying, hyung.”

When Seokmin aims a wide and sunny smile in Soonyoung’s direction, Soonyoung huffs a quiet laugh and pinches one of Seokmin’s cheeks.

“Anything for my Seokminnie,” he coos. Smiling, he turns to Seungkwan. “And what about my other cute dongsaeng?”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Firstly, don’t,” he replies, though he softens before he continues, “and secondly… yeah. If you’re paying, then duh.”

Soonyoung slings both arms around Seungkwan and Seokmin’s shoulders. His gun presses into his ribs under his coat as he holds his companions close.

“My budget is about thirty thousand won, so keep that in mind,” he chimes.

“Wow, I think I can get more than one thing with that kind of money,” Seungkwan gasps. “You’re loaded today.”

With a wink, Soonyoung says, “I got some allowance from the boss.”

“Oh, so you’re not the one feeding us, then,” Seokmin comments. “It’s actually Seungcheol-hyung.”

“Figures,” Seungkwan mutters, shaking his head.

“Hey,” Soonyoung complains, “I still contributed ten thousand won to that budget!”

“Not even half,” Seungkwan and Seokmin say at the same time.

The three of them run loose in the convenience store. The late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, casting orange light through the store’s long windows. Nothing seems amiss and no one gives either of them a second glance.

They hang around the front of the store once they’ve bought their snacks. Seokmin chews loudly on a handful of chips as Soonyoung takes a furtive glance around the area.

“So, I haven’t seen anything weird yet,” Soonyoung says lowly, returning his gaze to his dongsaengs. “Should we walk around the perimeter? Or should we wait until nightfall?”

“We won’t be able to see anything if we wait until it gets dark,” Seungkwan murmurs in response.

“Not to mention we’d look really suspicious,” Seokmin adds. He pauses before he asks, “Why are we whispering?”

Sighing, Soonyoung rests his hip against one of the store’s glass windows. From his position, he can see the cashier inside the shop, and the person behind the counter meets his eye.

“Yeah, there’s no one within earshot or anything,” Seungkwan says.

Soonyoung hums. He holds the cashier’s eye until they look away, leaving the counter to attend to a row of snacks a few feet away.

“You never know who’s listening in, kids,” Soonyoung mutters, turning his head around again. “I think the shop guy’s fine, though. I have a gut feeling that it’s not the store itself that’s suspicious.”

“Yeah?” Seokmin asks.

“It’s probably one of the next buildings over,” Soonyoung continues. He gestures towards the industrial area just a few blocks down. “I mean, how much could be hidden in a little convenience store like this?”

“I dunno, hyung,” Seungkwan replies. “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, or whatever.”

“Hmm.” Soonyoung brings his little bottled yogurt to his mouth and takes a sip. “Well, I guess. Anyway, we should take a walk around the block just in case. If we don’t find anything, we should send another group tomorrow with the dogs, maybe.”

“If it’s got anything to do with the dogs, Hansol would probably go,” Seungkwan says.

Soonyoung turns a sharp eye to Seungkwan. “Yeah?” he prompts him, smiling a smug smile.

First, Seungkwan’s face scrunches up in confusion. Then he frowns—pouts, really—and aims a weak slap to Soonyoung’s shoulder.

“I’m just saying,” Seungkwan grumbles. “Whatever. You can tell Seungcheol-hyung your idea _if_ we don’t find anything.”

“Which I hope won’t happen,” Seokmin says. His companions nod in agreement.

When they continue down the sidewalk, nothing catches their eye until they reach the end of the district. Right at the edge of the boundary between their current district and the industrial area, Seungkwan notices a piece of plywood, jagged as if it had been snapped off an existing structure, propped up against a tall building.

“Hey,” Seungkwan says, nudging his two hyungs. He gestures at the wood with his chin. “Doesn’t that look weird?”

Soonyoung glances at it, but he doesn’t stop walking. “Yeah, it does,” he agrees. “There’s no construction or anything nearby. Someone must have just left it there.”

“Should we take a picture or something?” Seokmin asks.

“Um.” Soonyoung stops and grabs Seungkwan by the elbow. “Here,” he says, “take a picture of us together.”

Seokmin meets Soonyoung’s eye before nodding his understanding.

“Pose with me,” Soonyoung singsongs, wrapping an arm around Seungkwan’s shoulders.

They both hold their hands up in a V while Seokmin snaps a photo.

“It might be nothing,” Soonyoung says, “but I don’t see anything else and I think we should probably leave soon.”

Seokmin shuffles over to show them the picture. Soonyoung nods and pats Seokmin on the arm.

“Okay, looks good,” he says. “Let’s hope we can do something with this.”

 

* * *

 

It’s been a while since all thirteen members of the crew have been able to gather all together. Down in Wonwoo’s basement mancave, it’s a little cramped, but Jihoon is glad to be surrounded by people he trusts. They form a semicircle around Wonwoo’s console. Jihoon presses up closer to Jeonghan’s side to get a better look.

“Okay, so I took Seokmin’s picture and matched it to my map of the city,” Wonwoo explains, “and discovered two things: the first is that the plywood is most likely from the warehouse two blocks down from the building it was found by, and the second is that there’s been consistent traffic from that first building to the convenience store.”

“So does the place where the plywood comes from have anything to do with the other buildings?” Jisoo asks.

Wonwoo hums and brings up all three locations onto his main monitor.

“Not sure yet,” he replies. “Maybe, maybe not. I can’t actually look into the building since it’s not in use anymore, but I can double check the street cams to see if there have been any people passing it. My initial investigation came up with nothing, but it won’t hurt to double check.”

“Okay, so there’s nothing certain besides the connection between the convenience store and the plywood building,” Seungkwan says. “Did you find out if there’s anything that’s been happening? Besides the usual selling and buying of stuff.”

Wonwoo brings up a video clip of the inside of the convenience store. It looks like a security camera feed, with a timestamp in one of the corners. The fluorescent lighting of the interior washes out the colour of the objects inside, but otherwise everything inside the store is visible.

“The store runs 24/7, though no suspicious activity seems to have taken place in the past week,” Wonwoo states. “It’s possible that they were spooked when you guys dropped in, but I don’t know.”

Seungcheol chooses that moment to step up to Wonwoo’s console. He’d been standing somewhere behind Jihoon, and when he passes by, he brushes the flat of his palm over Jihoon’s back.

“I know this sounds like nothing’s happening,” Seungcheol says once all eyes are on him. “But I think we ought to be careful and do a thorough search, even if we don’t have much against them. The reason I say this,” and here he pauses for effect, “is this.”

He waves his phone in the air. “A handful of you have passed on messages to me from other groups. It’s been brought up in the group chat a few times… but shit gets lost in there really quickly. So I thought we ought to have a _real_ group chat.”

There are a few boos from the crowd. Wonwoo pats Seungcheol’s arm from his spot beside him.

“I thought it was good, boss,” he says with a smile.

Seungcheol smiles back. “Your opinion means nothing to me on that matter,” he says without changing his expression.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

“Anyway, that’s what led to the convenience store investigation. And while we got _some_ results, it doesn’t really mean anything, right?” Seungcheol wiggles his phone in the air. “Not without this next message. It’s from Nu’est’s JR.”

Jihoon stands up straighter. “You didn’t tell me about this,” he says, catching Seungcheol’s gaze immediately.

Seungcheol nods. “Yeah, but that’s because I just got it today.” He pauses to look at his phone before he says, “also Baekho says hi.”

Although Jihoon rolls his eyes in response, he can’t resist the smile that comes to his face.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Seungcheol presses on, “this message gives life to these notes. It gives us a reason why we should investigate further.”

“Don’t leave us hanging!” Seungkwan cries.

“I was getting there, hold your damn horses,” Seungcheol replies.

Both Seungkwan and Soonyoung grab one of Seokmin’s arms.

Seungcheol sighs. Adopting a slightly higher pitched voice, he reads out the message:

> _“Hey, buddy, how’s it going? Good?_  
>  _Well in any case I just thought you should check out this area around five p.m. with the shadows on the left and two and a half valleys in_  
>  _Sound familiar?_ _  
> _ _There have been a few faces hanging around there that we don’t recognize_ _  
> I think it’d be a good idea for you to check it out :)”_

Mingyu interrupts him to say, “Wait, was that a smiley face with a nose or without one?”

“What the hell does it matter?” Minghao cuts in immediately.

Frowning, Mingyu throws Minghao the beginnings of a glare. “I was just curious!”

“Don’t waste time with stupid questions.”

Seungcheol clears his throat and both Minghao and Mingyu turn to look at him.

“Without one,” Seungcheol clarifies. “Just a colon and a right parenthesis.”

Mingyu smiles his thanks and gives a nod.

> _“Be on the lookout for a little surprise…_ _  
> _ _Or a big one!_
> 
> _Much love, JR_ _❤︎”_

“A smiley face _and_ a heart,” Junhui muses, wearing a wry smile.

“Our friends in Nu’est are obviously very loving,” Jeonghan comments.

“And a lot less… subtle,” Chan says.

“Maybe it’s more a case of them being generous with information?” Hansol suggests.

“Either way, I think it’s safe to say that we should not only investigate the area, but also practice a great deal of caution,” Seungcheol declares. He crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin just slightly. “I think we’ll have to do a building-wide search with a big team.”

Chan puts up his hand.

A small smile breaks out over Seungcheol’s face. “Chan, kiddo, you’re not in class,” Seungcheol reminds him gently.

Chan slowly lowers his hand. “Um,” he says, clearing his throat, “I was just—I was just volunteering. To go, I mean.”

“Don’t you have midterms coming up?” Soonyoung asks, shooting Chan a look from across the room.

Chan purses his lips. “I do,” he replies slowly. “It’s fine, though. I’ll find time to study around the job.”

Seungcheol gives Chan a soft smile. “Don’t stress out about it. Focus on your studies.”

Drawing himself up straighter, Chan opens his mouth to speak. Instead of talking, however, Chan eventually deflates with a loud sigh.

“Listen,” Seungcheol starts, catching Chan’s gaze, “I’ll take you on this other job I need to get out of the way after. I’ll need your expertise since I’ve run into some weapons I haven’t seen before.”

Chan’s face brightens a little and he nods.

“And I’ll let you ride shotgun,” Seungcheol adds.

The group gives a low whistle at that. Rubbing the back of his neck, Chan smiles and nods again.

“I’m going,” Jihoon says, putting up his hand a little.

“Of course,” Seungcheol replies without a hint of hesitation.

“Me too,” Soonyoung says, mirroring the gesture.

“Now everyone’s putting up their hands,” Chan complains.

Mingyu raises his hand as well. “I’m driving?” he says.

“You don’t sound too confident about it,” Wonwoo says around a chuckle.

Mingyu pouts, but he keeps his hand up.

Seungcheol nods at him. After a few more hands go up, the group decides that Jisoo, Wonwoo, Chan, Seungkwan, and Seokmin will be staying behind to watch the base and their backs over Wonwoo’s network.

“This is gonna be a pain in the ass,” Jeonghan sighs.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be watching to make sure that that doesn’t become a literal reality,” Jisoo says to him, patting his back.

“You drop that hand any lower, you lose it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Jeonghanie.”

“Who takes ass shots anyway?” Soonyoung asks.

A few hushed and muffled giggles ripple through the group. Sighing loudly, Soonyoung grumbles, “okay, yes, I heard that too. Feel free to kill me and dump my body in a river.”

“Drama queen,” Jihoon coos, reaching up to pinch Soonyoung’s cheek.

“Leave the blueprints to me,” Wonwoo says. He waves a hand to catch everyone’s attention and he gets it without much delay. Then he curls his hand to point a finger at Jisoo, Chan, and Mingyu. “You guys. I’m gonna need you to help me figure out escape routes and other ways out.”

The crowd begins to break up as different members leave to attend their own jobs. Jihoon is about to head up the stairs to begin his own preparations when a hand grabs his wrist.

“Need you,” Seungcheol says, giving Jihoon’s arm a slight tug.

“Uh,” they both say at the same time.

Jihoon looks up and meets Seungcheol’s gaze. Seungcheol’s mouth is stiff, tense with the effort it takes to keep his mouth shut.

“Need you to help me,” Seungcheol clarifies after a moment of quiet. “Need a second opinion.”

When Jihoon nods, it feels as if he is moving his head through a bowl of molasses. He uses the rest of his energy to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.

“Come on,” Seungcheol says. He flashes his usual grin and Jihoon feels his muscles relax slightly.

 

* * *

 

 _“Can you hear me?”_ Wonwoo asks, his voice tinny over the radio waves.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol replies. “It’s not great, but I can hear you.”

Wonwoo sighs. _“I’ve tweaked it to the best of my ability, boss. You guys are too close to the radio tower for me to do this as safely as I’d like.”_

“Don’t worry, I understand. I’m just… worried.”

“Oh, boss says he’s worried, boys,” Jeonghan calls out. “Better say your prayers now. Text your mom if you need to. Tell your loved ones it was nice knowing them.”

Laughing, Mingyu slaps Jeonghan on the shoulder. “Shut up, god.”

 _“If you guys die out there, I’m taking all your stuff,”_ Seungkwan declares.

“Take care of the dogs for me when I go,” Minghao says. He sniffles for effect.

 _“Oh, god,”_ Seungkwan groans, _“no, okay, you can’t die. Don’t leave me alone with them. One dog is fine—great, actually, but three? Three murder hounds? No, you guys are coming back for them.”_

“You bet your ass I’m coming back home to them,” Seungcheol says. “Those are my babies!”

 _“I thought_ we _were your babies, hyung,”_ Seokmin chimes.

“There’s only one baby here,” Jeonghan states, “and he knows who he is.”

Chan grumbles from some undetermined spot in Wonwoo’s basement, just loud enough to be picked up by the microphone.

“Chan,” Jeonghan begins.

Chan groans more loudly this time.

“Chaaaaan,” Jeonghan calls.

 _“No, hyung,”_ Chan complains.

“Chan,” Jeonghan plows on, “Channie. Whose baby are you?”

_“Hyung, no.”_

“Chan, I’m not leaving until you say it. Then what? Are you gonna let the group go without my cover?”

There’s silence on the line for a minute. The rest of the group has moved onto checking their weapons, but the shuffle and clicks of their movements can’t overpower Jeonghan’s expectant silence.

_“...Jeonghan-hyung’s baby.”_

“Good boy,” Jeonghan coos. “Jisoo, be a dear and pat his hair for me, will you?”

_“You know I won’t.”_

“Go fuck yourself,” Jeonghan singsongs.

Minghao pats one of Jeonghan’s elbows. “Go ahead,” he tells him, “the group left without you.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake—”

Jeonghan hurries off to catch up with his members, tucking his gun into the holster on his back in a rush.

“These kids, honestly…” Minghao mutters to himself.

Mingyu approaches his side and nudges his ribs. Immediately, Minghao nudges back. They indulge each other in a brief tickle fight.

“Almost everyone who left is older than you,” Mingyu says with a laugh. “Even I’m older than you.”

“Yeah, by, like, a few months.”

Mingyu’s grin is wide and toothy. “Still older.”

With a long suffering sigh, Minghao flops back against Mingyu’s car. “I can’t believe I’m on car-sitting duty,” he whines.

“Hey, you’re the one who’s always like, ‘Mingyu is too shitty to do anything by himself, he doesn’t even know how to shoot a damn gun’. It’s karma, dude.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You shut the fuck up!”

 _“We can still hear you, you know,”_ Junhui reminds them over the comms.

Minghao groans something inarticulate.

This is going to be a long job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing all the members in one scene is so hard... i'm worried about leaving someone out. sorry to split this arc into different parts, it's just been a while since i updated and this is gonna be a big job. thanks for reading as always, and hmu on twitter @ shujeongs if you wanna yell at me ❤︎


	6. Act One: Chapter Six - Surprise Part 2

“I don’t like this,” Wonwoo sighs, turning off his mic for now.

Jisoo rolls his chair a little closer to Wonwoo. “Why not?” he asks.

Frowning, Wonwoo plays with the hem of his sleeves. “I can’t see anything inside the building,” he mutters, “and I’m supposed to be the eyes of this team.”

Seungkwan snorts. “Come on, hyung,” he says, nudging at Wonwoo’s chair with his foot, “you can’t expect to see  _ everything. _ Even you have limits.”

“Besides, we’ve got eyes on them now, right?” Seokmin adds.

Wonwoo looks up at his console. He has a total of six monitors: four camera feeds cover the north, east, south, and west sides of the building; one monitor displays the blueprints Wonwoo put together, and there’s a blinking cursor that indicates the group’s approximate location; and the last screen is currently off. Once the ground team can find access to the building’s security system, they will replace the outside feeds with something that should actually help them.

“There’s a guy over here taking a piss,” Seungkwan points out, raising a finger to his screen.

“Thanks for letting me know, Seungkwan,” Wonwoo mutters with a sigh.

“My eyes are glued  _ so _ closely to this screen, you don’t even know.”

A loud  _ bump _ from the audio feed catches everyone’s attention.

_ “Fuck,” _ Hansol mutters.

_ “What the hell was that?” _ Junhui asks.

_ “I just bumped into a stack of plywood, no big deal.” _ A slightly muffled sigh filters through Hansol’s microphone.  _ “Don’t worry,” _ he whispers in a flat tone,  _ “it’s just my clumsy ass.” _

_ “Your ass is fine, don’t worry,” _ Seungcheol tells him in what Wonwoo assumes is meant to be a reassuring tone of voice.

_ “Um,” _ Hansol stutters,  _ “thanks?” _

“That’s my line, hyung,” Seungkwan complains into his mic.

_ “Can we not talk about my ass?” _

_ “Why? Is it something you’re ashamed of?”  _ Jeonghan asks.  _ “If you’re feeling insecure about your ass, you can talk to me about it after the job.” _

_ “I think you have a nice ass, Hansollie,” _ Mingyu says.

_ “Guys, holy shit,” _ Hansol groans.

Wonwoo glances at the image of the blueprints. The cursor makes its way through the halls of the building at a snail’s pace. That’s the biggest problem with taking so many members on one job: they have to move together as a group, and keeping track of everyone means being more cautious.

Wonwoo drums his fingertips against the top of his desk.

“It’s going to be all right,” Jisoo murmurs, laying a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t shrug off Jisoo’s touch.

“I know you’re trying to be stealthy right now, but I need you guys to keep me updated on the situation,” Wonwoo mutters into his mic once it’s back on.

_ “It’s dark, it’s quiet, and it sucks,” _ Soonyoung pipes up quickly.  _ “I think Junhui elbowed me three times already.” _

The smile curving Wonwoo’s mouth warps the sigh that tumbles from his lips.

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, “cool. But I meant I want info about your surroundings. How dark is it? Are there any obstructions that the blueprints don’t cover?”

_ “There are a lot of construction materials here,” _ Jihoon states.  _ “Lots of stuff like the thing Hansol walked into. It’s mostly stacked against the walls in random places. Probably worthless, but it hasn’t caused a problem yet.” _

_ “Nothing too complicated,” _ Seungcheol adds.  _ “Nothing I’d expect from a rival gang, but I’d blame that on either them not having really moved in yet or their ability to hide things isn’t shit.” _

“Noted.” Wonwoo types up a bullet list of additional notes and the page pops up next to the blueprints. “Well, if you keep going north, you should find the security control room.”

_ “Gotcha,” _ Seungcheol replies.

Deflating with a silent exhale, Wonwo slumps in his seat. He turns and casts his gaze over his members. They’re all staring at him and exhibiting various signs of stress: Seungkwan has his leg folded over the other with his foot bouncing restlessly; Chan’s hands lie in his lap, fidgeting every other second; Seokmin has his thumb caught between his teeth; and Jisoo is playing with his earring.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

Wonwoo tries to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. He can’t force it down, so he gets up and heads towards the stairs.

“H-Hey!” Seungkwan calls out. “Where are you going?”

Wonwoo stops at the bottom step. “Getting some water,” he responds. He’s glad his voice doesn’t betray his calm expression. “Want anything?” he asks as a last-minute thought.

Everyone else in the room mumbles quiet refusals. The trip to the kitchen and back is short: Wonwoo grabs a pitcher of water and some cups before returning to his post.

_ “Hey, Wonwoo-ya?” _ comes Seungcheol’s hesitant voice.  _ “I think we found the control room? It’s actually still warm.” _

_ “Like someone was here a few hours earlier,” _ Junhui explains.  _ “It’s hardly enough to be noticeable, but the entire control console is just barely, slightly warm.” _

Wonwoo glances at the blueprints and the blinking cursor as if they were actually the members of his crew. Worry sinks low in his gut, heavy and cold.

The clock on that particular monitor reads  _ 3:24AM. _ According to the data he’d gathered before the job, there shouldn’t have been anyone in the building after 9PM if the trends in traffic were to be trusted.

“I’d say exercise caution,” Wonwoo murmurs into his mic, “but I guess it’s already too fucking late for that. Then again, it is past 3AM, and that’s pretty late to me.”

_ “Wonwoo-ya,” _ Junhui says, a hint of a warning fitted around the syllables of his name,  _ “don’t.” _

Wonwoo sits back in his seat a little.

“It should be a straightforward thing,” Wonwoo says, “like a red button or a switch or something.”

_ “How about this button here that says ‘on’ in big, white letters?” _ Hansol asks.

Seungkwan looks over at Wonwoo. When Wonwoo nods, Seungkwan leans into his mic and says, “go for it, Hansollie.”

_ “Okay…” _ Hansol mutters, just barely picked up by his mic.  _ “Okay. Did it. Nothing seems to have exploded yet.” _

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Seungkwan scoffs. “That’s my job.”

As soon as power goes to the security console, Wonwoo gets to work on accessing its feeds. He can feel the members’ eyes on him as he works; normally, he would take pride in his abilities, but he feels the pressure creeping over his skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. This is the only way they can determine what’s in store for them, and if things go to shit, it’s on Wonwoo to tell them to get the hell out.

When he taps into the camera feeds, they pop up on all the monitors around him. There are more than six cameras in the building, so he’ll have to switch between them as the group moves, but now that he has visuals, Wonwoo can feel relief flood his system.

However, something pricks at Wonwoo’s nerves: the cameras are already on night mode. Considering the group is in a warehouse that needs full light to operate, this setting is reserved for emergencies.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Wonwoo starts. “In fact, I can barely bear to tell you this bear of a fact—”

_ “Now you’re just reaching,” _ Soonyoung sighs.

“But it seems whoever used the console last night has been expecting you,” Wonwoo finishes. He begins to switch through the feeds as he continues, “because it was left on low-lighting settings. It looks like there are almost no lights on in the building… so maybe the person was monitoring the place up until the last second?”

_ “Like they were watching us come in and…” _ Seungcheol trails off. From the camera in the security room, Wonwoo can see him reach for a gun strapped to his back.

Jihoon does the same thing. 

_ “Good thing we came over prepared,” _ Jeonghan says. His playful tone sits strangely in Wonwoo’s ears.

“Is there really such thing as ‘over prepared’?” Jisoo asks.

_ “To someone like you? Maybe not. But it’s not fun carrying this heavy metal on my back.” _

“I don’t see any music on your back though?” Wonwoo says.

The group gives a collective groan.

“Wait there while I take a look around,” Wonwoo commands them. He takes a glance around the control room and finds that the members there with him have been aiming their eyes on him the entire time.

“I’ll be cycling through the feeds,” he tells his companions, “so tell me if you see anything weird.”

Seungkwan, Seokmin, Chan, and Jisoo give their confirmation before turning to observe their assigned monitors.

Although the cameras have been adjusted to compensate for the low-light conditions, Wonwoo still can’t see much. He can see the shapes of figures and maybe a limited spectrum of colours. As far as he can see, there are only scraps of things like plywood and various metals.

“Uh,” Chan says eloquently, raising his voice to make sure he’s heard. “Hyung? Can you stop flipping through them for a sec?”

Wonwoo turns to look at Chan immediately. “What’s up?” he asks, rolling closer on his chair.

When Wonwoo comes to a stop by Chan’s side, he sees what caught his attention. The entire feed is a dull grey save for a message written in ink. It reads:

_ “Surprise, kids ❤︎” _

As Wonwoo’s eyes run over the writing over and over, he feels his heart pick up the pace, its beat cacophonous in his own ears. He swallows and fails to fight the dryness in his throat, fails to fight off the fear sinking cold claws into his chest.

“Wonwoo-hyung has gone catatonic,” Wonwoo hears Seungkwan say. His voice seems to bounce around the room like a wild animal. “And I’m probably about two seconds away from shitting my pants, but—”

Jisoo cuts in: “There’s a camera on the lower floor with a note attached to it that reads “ _ surprise, kids” _ with a heart at the end. Should we avoid the area or should we target it?”

“Wow, way to cut me off,” Seungkwan complains, lowering his mic from his mouth.

Jisoo turns and frowns at him. “I’m sorry,” he replies, “but I just wanted to minimize the possible damage.”

_ “Lower floor? So like a basement?” _ Seungcheol asks, exasperation pulling his words taut.  _ “There’s shit waiting for us in a fucking basement?” _ His voice trails off in a string of curses.

Wonwoo takes a deep breath. He moves the camera feed with the note to the top of his monitor arrangement so that it is in the centre of the visual guides. Then he flips through all the camera feeds until he pulls up the rest of the cameras in the basement.

There’s no light down there. At least on the main floor, there are two lights, one on either side of the floor, providing just enough illumination so that Wonwoo can see his members on camera.

“I can’t see a thing down there, guys,” Wonwoo mutters, fighting to keep his voice level, “so if you want to investigate, you’re going in blind.”

“But we’re here to watch your backs if you manage to find a light source or something!” Seokmin chimes in. “Even if you can’t see them, they can’t see you either. Right?”

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Wonwoo bites back the instinct to contradict Seokmin right off the bat.

“There are no guarantees…” Wonwoo says, “but yeah. You’d be on the same playing field.”

_ “Unless they have night goggles on,” _ Hansol points out.

_ “Or something like that,” _ Junhui agrees.  _ “But why waste all that prep on the off chance that we’d come tonight?” _

Jisoo sends Wonwoo a sidelong glance.

“You don’t think all those messages were—a trap?” Jisoo suggests. The idea barely manages to squeeze itself out of his tight throat.

_ “No,” _ Seungcheol insists.  _ “They wouldn’t do that to us. I know it.” _

_ “Seungcheol-hyung is right,” _ Jihoon says haltingly.

_ “So,” _ Soonyoung cuts in,  _ “guess that means we’re going straight for it, aren’t we?” _

_ “It’s obviously the right decision,” _ Jeonghan scoffs. _ “Hey, Mingyu-ya.” _

_ “Yeah?” _ Mingyu responds. His voice is muffled as if there is something inside his mouth.

Wonwoo switches to one of the exterior cameras. Mingyu and Minghao are seated on top of Mingyu’s car with a paper bag set in between them. As Minghao reaches into the bag, Wonwoo manages to identify its contents are buns.

“You’re fucking eating on the job?” Wonwoo asks, incredulous.

_ “Wh-What?” _ Mingyu whips his head around. Eventually, he finds the camera and glares in its direction.  _ “Don’t do that! That’s so creepy!” _

“Hey, I’m just trying to watch your back,” Wonwoo says around a laugh.

Jeonghan heaves a long-suffering sigh.  _ “Hello, hyung speaking here. I was talking to Mingyu first, you know.” _

Wonwoo’s laugh cools down to a chuckle. Catching Mingyu in the act brings him a certain level of calm, and it’s enough to clear his head a little.

With another sigh, Jeonghan waves at nothing.  _ “Never mind, the opportunity is gone,” _ he grumbles.  _ “Let’s just get down there. You better not be too busy filling your damn mouths by the time we get out of here.” _

“Alright, then,” Wonwoo says, leaning back to crack his knuckles, “I’ll walk you through it.”

 

* * *

 

Although Wonwoo sounds confident enough, his words waver just the tiniest bit in Seungcheol’s ears. There could be a number of reasons Wonwoo is uncertain, but Seungcheol can’t afford to waste the energy wondering why. They’ll deal with the danger as it comes.

A quick glance at Jihoon settles the feverish weight rolling in his stomach, despite the way Jihoon’s features are fuzzy in the dim light. The hard set of Jihoon’s jaw communicates just as much as words can; the familiarity of the expression reminds Seungcheol that he’s not alone. There is strength in numbers and Seungcheol knows Jihoon’s strength like the back of his hand, like the butt of a rifle to the face.

He’s not alone. Wonwoo isn’t alone, either. Even if something goes wrong, they can work it out together.

The group slinks through the warehouse, molding against the walls and following the path mapped out to them through Wonwoo’s words. Occasionally, Jisoo or Chan will point out an obstacle that could draw unnecessary attention, and Seokmin and Seungkwan spend time composing a suitable backtrack to their journey.

“You guys can really sing,” Seungcheol murmurs into his mic, making no effort to restrain his awe. “Is that what you guys used to do on that radio show of yours?”

Seungkwan scoffs like he’s heard the compliment hundreds of times in his life. With a voice like that, Seungcheol wouldn’t be surprised.

_ “Radio shows have a program, you know,” _ Seungkwan replies.  _ “We can’t just do whatever we want.” _

_ “Though we did sneak in a few lines when we could,” _ Seokmin adds with a laugh.

Seungcheol’s guts grow tight and stiff. He briefly wonders about what kind of life the two of them could have had if they hadn’t joined the gang. He wonders if he could have watched them perform together on stage.

“Hey,” Jihoon calls, redirecting Seungcheol’s train of thought to the present, “watch out for the stairs, hyung.”

The rest of the group stands in two lines behind Jihoon and Seungcheol.

“Well?” Jeonghan asks. Seungcheol isn’t looking at him, won’t even bother with a glance, but he knows that Jeonghan’s arms are crossed over his chest, the perfect picture of impatience.

_ “Once you descend those stairs, you’ll enter a big room, kinda like… a showroom,”  _ Wonwoo buzzes in their ears.  _ “I have a clear view of the staircase. You should be fine going down, at least.” _

“I check for traps,” Soonyoung says gravely into his mouthpiece.

_ “Make a perception check,” _ Seungkwan replies.

“Why would you need to check for traps when someone else is looking for you?” Hansol asks. “Though I guess a perception check would include sounds and stuff…”

_ “What the hell are you guys talking about?” _ Chan asks.

“D&D stuff,” Junhui replies. “We started a campaign last week. You’re welcome to join us if you want.”

_ “What? Was everyone invited except for me?” _

_ “No, it’s just the major nerds who decided to come together and multiply their nerdiness,” _ Mingyu explains.

Heaving a sigh, Wonwoo mutes everyone’s mics for a second.  _ “Hey, listen up, assholes,”  _ he calls.  _ “Anyway, as I was saying… Approach with caution. I have the layout here on my map, but no visuals on anything actually inside.” _

“Now that I think about it, Wonwoo-hyung is kind of like our DM,” Hansol muses. “He describes the situation and—”

“Not now, Hansollie,” Seungcheol calls.

“Right,” Hansol replies, tacking on a cough at the end. “Sorry.”

Seungcheol glances at Jihoon again. 

“We’ll take point,” Jihoon says, meeting Seungcheol’s eyes in the dark. “Soonyoung, take the rear with Hansol.”

_ “Oh, Soonyoung-hyung, I didn’t know you were that kind of guy,” _ Seungkwan says around a mock-gasp.

“Wonwoo-ya,” Soonyoung calls into his mic, “mute him for me, will you?”

“No can do, Soonyoungie,” Wonwoo replies in his usual deadpan. There’s a smirk hidden in the syllables of his speech nonetheless. “Can’t afford to take a pair of eyes off the map.”

“Can’t he just watch silently?”

_ “Don’t talk about me like I can’t hear you,” _ Seungkwan whines.

Suddenly, there’s a muffled shout from the control room. Footsteps thud distantly, echoed by Seungkwan’s unintelligible complaints.

The line crackles as someone adjusts one of the microphones.

_ “Sorry about that,” _ Seokmin says. His barely contained laughter colours his voice, and it soothes the nervous heat crawling through Seungcheol’s veins.  _ “Don’t worry about him anymore, Soonyoung-hyung.” _

“I can always count on you, Seokminnie,” Soonyoung coos.

Clearing his throat, Jihoon takes a decisive step forward. “We don’t have time for this, kids.”

“Sorry,” Soonyoung and Seokmin say at the same time. 

“Don’t,” Jihoon presses before either of them can say anything else.

Seungcheol cocks his gun and the sound bounces off the metal of the staircase. That should send a warning to anyone waiting for them at the bottom.

Something warm brushes the skin above Seungcheol’s wrist where his sleeve rides up and away from his gloves. When Seungcheol lifts his head to look at the cause, he fails to catch Jihoon’s eye, instead casting his gaze over Jihoon’s hand as it retreats to cradle his gun.

But Jihoon looks up again. Their eyes meet. Jihoon nods, and together, they descend the stairs.

As soon as Seungcheol’s boots meet the floor, the room erupts in bright light. Seungcheol squints, flinches, and raises his gun all in one motion, stepping back into Junhui’s chest.

“Hands up!” someone yells. The voice sounds familiar to Seungcheol’s ears, somehow recognizable over the harsh beat of his heart in his chest. However, the adrenaline pumping through his system obeys the command rather than his uncertainty, and Seungcheol begins to lower his gun to the ground.

A giggle echoes through the showfloor. 

“Wow, you almost sounded scary for a second there,” another familiar voice says.

_ “Oh,” _ Wonwoo breathes into the mic.

_ Oh _ is right.  _ Oh  _ is fucking right.

Sowon drops from the hood of an armoured SUV and shoves her hands into the pocket of her black hoodie. She’s immediately followed by Eunha, who steps out of the vehicle’s shadow.

“Um,” Jihoon says, eloquent as always.

Another laugh booms through the room.

“You should’ve seen your goddamn faces! Holy shit!” V calls out, his voice bouncing with his laughter.

“Um?” Junhui questions. His arms hold his gun with confused tension, his body trying to comprehend the conflict between the sight before him and the picture his brain had cooked up on the way over.

_ “S. Cooooooooups!” _ bellows yet another voice.

A wide smile stretches over Seungcheol’s face. He doesn’t think it could stretch wide enough to truly demonstrate his relief.

Shownu, Wonho, and Kihyun pop out from behind another armoured vehicle—a sports car this time, something fast that Mingyu would love. Seungcheol can’t guess the make just by looking; his bubbling happiness and relief might have something to do with it, too, clouding his mind and forcing the pent-up anxiety out of his blood.

“Oh, Mingyu’s not with you?” Jungkook asks from his perch on a stack of crates. V stands behind him, about two inches away from pushing Jungkook off his vantage point.

_ “I heard my name,” _ Mingyu says into the feed.

Grinning, Jeonghan steps forward and beckons Jungkook closer. Without a moment of hesitation, Jungkook heads towards Jeonghan’s waving hand, and he doesn’t flinch when Jeonghan slings his arm around Jungkook’s shoulders.

“Mingyu-ya,” Jeonghan calls, “Jungkookie was looking for you.” He pulls his mic away from his face and leans towards Jungkook’s mouth.

“Um,” Jungkook says into the microphone. “Hi.”

_ “Hi,” _ Mingyu replies slowly.

_ “I think I’m gonna hurl,” _ Minghao groans.

Flanked by Jin and Suga, Rapmon approaches Seungcheol and Jihoon. Junhui comes up between both Seungcheol and Jihoon and wraps an arm around their shoulders.

“You guys looked like you were gonna shit your pants,” Rapmon says with a toothy grin.

“Honestly, I thought I was going to when I heard Sowon shout,” Seungcheol admits, rubbing the back of his neck. Junhui touches his hand for a brief moment and the contact is grounding, comforting.

“Someone called?” Sowon asks, popping up from behind Jihoon. She’s holding Eunha’s hand, leading her over to the group of boys. With a small smile, Eunha exchanges nods with everyone else.

“What the hell is all this, anyway?” Junhui asks.

“Think of it as a thank-you gift,” Suga replies. He aims a playful punch to Jihoon’s shoulder. “For all the times you guys helped us out of shit.”

Jin nods. “Seriously, we could’ve died a few times if it weren’t for you guys,” he adds. The sincerity of his tone warms Seungcheol’s bones; it’s almost enough to lift the weight of his gun from his back.

“Not everyone takes us as seriously as they should,” Sowon states. There’s a dangerous glint to her eye for a second, but her gaze warms up just as quickly. “And you guys have been incredible support time and time again.”

“It’s not much,” Eunha says, “but we hope it’s enough to show how we feel.”

Yuju looks up from where she’s slapping at Soonyoung’s shoulder. The two of them wear grins that match the ones on Kihyun and SinB’s faces, the four of them calming their laughter at some joke Soonyoung probably cracked.

“She’s just being nice,” Yuju yells from across the room. “We actually got you guys a whole bunch of shit. And we’re even gonna help you bring it home, too!”

Shownu and Wonho approach Seungcheol’s group. As they come closer, Wonho makes eye contact with Junhui and breaks out into a wide grin. 

“I know thirteen’s a lot of dudes, but seriously,” Shownu starts, “we got you a  _ ton _ of shit.”

“Hand-me-downs?” Jihoon hazards, wearing a crooked smile. The suggestion earns him another playful punch from Suga.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Rapmon replies with a shrug. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that it all works, and it works  _ well _ .”

“Wonwoo-ya,” Seungcheol calls into his mic, “did you hear that? We’re gonna need you guys to come and lend a hand.”

_ “Oh my god,” _ Mingyu cuts in quickly, his attention drawn away from Jungkook for the time being,  _ “do any of you guys know how to drive?” _

_ “I can,” _ Wonwoo responds flatly.

_ “Oh. Right. Of course, hyung.” _

_ “Do we need to worry about watching the base?” _ Seokmin asks.

Wearing a crooked grin, Jin reaches out and pulls Seungcheol’s microphone away from his mouth.

“Come on, kids, it’ll be fine,” Jin reassures them. “It’ll be a few hours at best. And we’ll be fucking  _ packing,  _ so if anyone wants to mess with us, they’re honestly welcome to try.”

_ “Ah,” _ Chan mutters into the feed.  _ “You’ve got a point.” _

_ “Should I bring the dogs? Just in case?” _ Jisoo asks.

“Oh my god, the dogs!” Minhyuk shouts. He turns to Shownu and Wonho, his eyes sparkling. “Remember the dogs? Bring the dogs!”

“I remember the dogs,” Wonho says with a chuckle. “I think I’m pretty well acquainted with them, thanks to Jun over here.”

A hint of red tints Junhui’s face as he throws a grin in Wonho’s direction.

_ “Oh, be gentle with them,” _ Minghao sighs into his mic.

_ “Yeah, and with the van, too,” _ Mingyu adds, his tone leaning on the edge of a whimper.

_ “Don’t worry about my driving skills,” _ Wonwoo tells him.  _ “We’ll get there in one piece.” _

“You might as well come into the warehouse too, kids,” Seungcheol says to Minghao and Mingyu in particular. “If you can bear to part with the car, that is.”

The line is quiet for a while.

_ “I’ll wait for the dogs to come,” _ Mingyu replies with some hesitation.

“Oh!” J-Hope yells suddenly, startling Jungkook and Jeonghan beside him. “I can’t believe we forgot the food!”

Every single member of SEVENTEEN present stands at attention.

“Did you say…” Hansol starts.

“Food?” Seungcheol finishes.

“Hell yeah,” Rapmon says. He reaches out and snatches Seungcheol out of Junhui’s grip, taking him by the shoulders and leading him towards a truck on the opposite side of the room. “We’ve got plenty. What kind of thank you doesn’t include food?”

“I think I might cry,” Soonyoung huffs, waving a hand at his eyes to dry the incoming tears. “I think I could really cry.”

“It’ll season your food,” Yerin says, laughing.

As Seungcheol is whisked away, he feels a hand brush the small of his back. He throws a glance over his shoulder and meets Jihoon’s smiling eyes for a fleeting moment; it’s enough.

Of all the things Seungcheol had been expecting—firefights, showdowns, mass violence, even death—this doesn’t even come close to anything his brain conjured up. And he is endlessly, infinitely thankful. Fitting, he supposes, for a thank-you party.


	7. Act One: Chapter Seven - Nightfall

Group Chat: THE BIG BOYS 

[  **THE BEAUTY** ]:  
dinner?

[  **THE BOSS** ]:  
time and place?

[  **THE BEAUTY** ]:  
i’m feeling like… japanese food

[  **THE BRAINS** ]:  
what, you want to take a plane over to japan on a whim?

[  **THE BEAUTY** ]:  
cmon i’m not that impulsive

[  **THE BOSS** ]:  
mmhmm

[  **THE BRAINS** ]:  
sure

[  **THE BEAUTY** ]:  
this is fucking slander fuck you guys i’ll just bring the kids

[  **THE BOSS** ]:  
ok chill out hannie, we know you’re not serious

[  **THE BRAINS** ]:  
dont speak for me, please

[  **THE BOSS** ]:  
dont tell your leader what to do

[  **THE BEAUTY** ]:  
SO i was thinking about that place in myeongdong

[  **THE BRAINS** ]:  
myeongdong? really?

[  **THE BEAUTY** ]:  
it’s been like years since we got you out of there you know, so that means two things: 1. you still know the area and can lead us around if we get lost and 2. if we run into any fancy looking dudes you can save us with your gentlemanly aura

[  **THE BOSS** ]:  
can’t we just get japanese somewhere else

[  **THE BEAUTY** ]:  
is it so wrong to want to spend the money we actually have?

[  **THE BEAUTY** ]:  
we can make a date of it if you want. dress all fancy and shit. you can bring jihoonie if you want

[  **THE BOSS** ] is now offline

[  **THE BRAINS** ]:  
lmao

[  **THE BEAUTY** ]:  
well fuck you too

 

The three of them end up in a diner down the street from hideout #4.

Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Jeonghan pushes his rice around with a spoon.

“Sushi, guys. I really wanted sushi,” Jeonghan mutters at his bowl. “Or, like, donburi.”

Seungcheol gives Jeonghan a soft smile before aiming a kick at his foot under the table. When they make contact, Jeonghan’s pout intensifies.

“You’ll get it soon enough, Hannie,” Seungcheol tells him, trying for reassuring. “We need to have a chat with the locals before we even think about setting foot there, though.”

Jeonghan sighs again. Jisoo reaches over and Jeonghan jerks so hard he almost upends the table.

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow.

Rubbing at his side, Jeonghan glares at Jisoo, hot and sharp and petulant.

“You might have had a better bet taking that plane,” Jisoo says without looking up. His expression is calm. Seungcheol feels a slight chill trickle through his throat.

“Maybe! And I would have done it, too! Call me impulsive, I don’t give a fuck!” Jeonghan cries.

Jisoo smirks and takes a sip of his tea. Seungcheol sighs. At this point, he’s beyond telling Jeonghan to calm down. Although a few of the restaurant staff within earshot flinch and curl into themselves, they know better than to question anything. Seungcheol looks up and makes eye contact with a waiter. When Seungcheol offers a wry smile, the waiter gives a wobbly smile in return, his fingers curled defensively around his tray.

The waiter’s shoes squeak as he shuffles away after Seungcheol lowers his eyes.

“I think the funniest part is the idea of you taking a plane out of the country by yourself,” Jisoo says, his lips still caught in that smirk.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol drawls. Jeonghan withers in his seat. “Good luck getting into the airport in the first place.”

Slumping, Jeonghan gives his food another stir. “Shut up,” he whines.

“Should I put that in my notes somewhere?” Jisoo asks, looking up at Seungcheol. “‘Acquire a jet so Jeonghannie can fly wherever he wants’?”

“You’d need a pilot, too,” Seungcheol replies. He ticks off his fingers as he speaks. “A pilot, probably a crew—I don’t know how planes work—and, you know, legal air access. That sort of thing.”

“Okay, I get it: it was a little extravagant—” Jeonghan starts.

“A _little_ ,” Seungcheol and Jisoo echo, speaking at the same time.

“You guys are ganging up on me,” Jeonghan complains. “What is this, shit on Jeonghan day?”

“You’re just too easy,” Seungcheol says with a laugh.

“Well, excuse me for knowing what I want.”

“You’re excused,” Jisoo tells him with a grin. “But I’m still gonna make fun of you for it.”

Seungcheol leans back with a piece of kimchi between his chopsticks. “Fine, I’ll say it, then: it wasn’t an _entirely_ terrible idea. Japanese food is great, and I’ve seen good reviews for the place you were thinking of.”

“The interior was well decorated,” Jeonghan sulks. His eyes flicker upwards as he finally meets Seungcheol’s gaze. “But?” he prompts him.

“But,” Seungcheol begins, “it was just… a little presumptuous, maybe. Considering our background.”

“Fine.” Jeonghan pauses to chew noisily on some pickled radish. “Then I guess I’ll just have to scope out the territory myself.”

Jisoo touches Jeonghan’s knee under the table. “I _do_ have notes on the area,” he says. “In case you want to look at them for reference.”

Sighing for the umpteenth time that night, Jeonghan leans over and rests his head on Jisoo’s shoulder. “Of course I do, Shua. Why bother asking?”

“You know why.”

“To hear the sound of your own voice?”

“Eh, you’ve come up with better comebacks with that.”

As Seungcheol’s two friends continue their light-hearted bickering, he finishes off his meal, shoving two more spoons of stew and rice into his mouth. He holds his head in his hand as he chews and the world around him bounces along with the movement.

It’s been too long since he’s had the opportunity to spend time with Jeonghan and Jisoo for reasons unrelated to work. Although the three of them had been brought together by unconventional circumstances, Seungcheol genuinely enjoys their company, and hasn’t stopped enjoying it in the years he has come to know them.

Outside, the streets are dark, highlighted only by the occasional street lamp. In this area, the functional lights outnumber the flickering ones, which is nice. At a first glance, it looks sketchy, but that’s where people like them are supposed to flourish, right?

Seungcheol’s attention is caught by the sound of someone clearing their throat. A young waitress stands by their table, one hand covering her mouth and the other clamped tight over her tray.

“I-Is there anything else I can get for you today?” she asks. Her voice barely manages to float out from between her trembling lips.

Jeonghan leans over and bats his eyelashes at her. She swallows, her throat working visibly. Seungcheol can’t tell if Jeonghan’s effect on her is positive or not.

“A round of beers for us, sweetheart,” Jeonghan requests.

The waitress bows and scuttles away.

Jisoo wrinkles his nose. “You planning on having two beers, Jeonghan?” he asks behind his teacup.

“One’s for you!”

“You know I don’t drink,” Jisoo says, his words soured by his distaste.

“You’ll drink it,” Jeonghan states with confidence.

Jisoo sighs. He aims his gaze towards the grimy landscape beyond the diner window. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” he murmurs.

“Get used to what?” Seungcheol asks. He has a good feeling he knows what Jisoo’s referring to, but Jisoo’s statement feels like a prompt of some sort.

“This,” Jisoo says simply. He doesn’t turn to face either of his companions. “People… knowing who we are. What we’ve done.”

“No one _really_ knows what we’ve done, Shua,” Jeonghan comments airily. “That’d be a sign of poor handiwork.”

“You’re only proving my point,” Jisoo grumbles, turning to look at Jeonghan. “You sound proud of what you do.”

“Well _someone’s_ gotta be.”

Jeonghan slides closer to Jisoo so that there’s not even a centimetre of space between their bodies. Jisoo doesn’t tense, but his expression remains sombre.

“Are you having doubts again?” Jeonghan asks in a lowered voice. “Is it because I brought up your old workplace?”

A heavy moment of silence drips onto the table in fat clumps. The weighted, measured drops of quiet ooze down the sides of the table as Seungcheol and Jeonghan wait for Jisoo’s response.

“No,” Jisoo says eventually. “No, it wasn’t that. I’m not really bothered by that. Those assholes can rot,” he continues. “It’s more like—you know, we _should_ be able to go to that Japanese place if we want. It’d be a bit of a drive, but that should be the only problem we’re having. Not…” He gestures with one of his hands. “You know. Territory.”

Jisoo lowers his hand to the table. He takes his teacup back into his grasp, but he slides it back and forth over the wood rather than bringing it to his lips.

“And we should be able to—eat at places like these without the staff giving us a wide berth,” he adds.

“I kinda like it,” Jeonghan replies, a slight laugh rounding his voice. “Makes me feel important and shit.”

“I know,” Jisoo groans, “and I _shouldn’t_ like it, but I do.”

“Hey,” Seungcheol says gently. He reaches across the table to cover Jisoo’s hands in his, stilling the moving cup. “Let’s not talk about ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’, okay?”

“I suppose thugs aren’t really in the position to talk about morals, huh,” Jisoo mutters.

“Wow, edgelord, calm down. ‘Thugs’.” Jeonghan scoffs, bending his fingers in air quotes. “When was the last time you were even on a job?” Jeonghan asks.

“That’s not the point!” Jisoo hisses. “And ‘edgelord’? Really?”

Over Jeonghan’s shoulder, Seungcheol can see the waitress from earlier making her way back to their table. The beers on her tray glint under the diner’s incandescent lights, a beacon of safety. Seungcheol holds back a sigh of relief.

“Three beers,” the waitress says. She manages to calm the tremor in her voice to a gentle quiver. “Enjoy.”

Seungcheol gathers the bottles before Jeonghan can take his. When Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, Seungcheol mimics the expression.

“Hey,” Seungcheol calls, deflecting Jeonghan’s swipe at his hands. “I just wanted to say something.”

“You’ve got my attention, boss,” Jeonghan replies. The arch of his brow and the slant of his lips paint him as displeased at best.

“It’s cute when you bicker,” Seungcheol starts. Jisoo purses his lips and the expression has one foot in the area of a pout. “But don’t get carried away.”

“I wasn’t!” Jeonghan cries. Seungcheol kicks him under the table.

“Let me finish,” Seungcheol growls.

Jeonghan rolls his eyes, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“Listen,” Seungcheol continues, his voice gentler this time around, “I know that—this probably isn’t where you thought you’d be at twenty-five—”

“Seungcheol, we’re _twenty-four,_ ” Jisoo sighs.

“Oh. Really?”

“Get on with it!” Jeonghan spits.

Sighing, Seungcheol deflates against his seat. Jeonghan takes the two other beers and opens them. Although Jisoo scowls when Jeonghan shoves the other bottle into his hands, he doesn’t refuse it.

“I’m just saying that—you know, at least we’re in this together,” Seungcheol finishes with a grumble.

“Rousing speech, boss,” Jeonghan comments drily.

“I’ll drink to that,” Jisoo adds with a similar dryness.

“Now you guys are ganging up on me,” Seungcheol whines.

Jeonghan giggles and holds out his bottle. Jisoo follows suit without a moment of hesitation, and when Seungcheol brings his out, they all clink their drinks together.

“Seriously though,” Seungcheol starts once he’s taken a sip, “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you guys.”

“Died in some ditch somewhere, probably,” Jeonghan says with such nonchalance that would have alarmed Seungcheol if he were someone else.

“Probably,” Seungcheol echoes.

“But we’re here,” Jisoo says, “so don’t worry about it.”

A grin pulls at Seungcheol’s mouth. “And that, my friend, is the point I was trying to make earlier.”

“Oh, so you were waiting for me to say it myself?”

“I can’t do all the work by myself all the time!”

“Here’s to friendship,” Jeonghan declares, holding out his drink again. His companions extend their drinks immediately.

“Here’s to not dying in a ditch,” Seungcheol says.

Jisoo laughs behind his hand. “I’ll drink to that,” he says.

Their knock their glasses together again before taking long, long draws.

 

* * *

 

Jihoon sweeps his hair away from his forehead. He can feel three pairs of eyes on him—no, make that two. Someone else in the diner ducks out of his field of vision.

He can’t help it. It’s late, so he had no other choice but to hit up a local food joint: he wouldn’t have had time to make it anywhere else before they closed. And in this area, he’s not exactly a stranger.

 

Group Chat: it’s over 9600!!!!!!! 

[ **tiger gayze** ]: just go to that place by the subway station

[ **ppap** ]: you know i can’t go there

[ **hacker voice** ]: jihoon’s right. remember the last time he went there and a girl hit on him?

[ **ppap** ]: wonwoo wtf

[ **hacker voice** ]: (music note emoji)

[ **tiger gayze** ]: i still don’t see what the problem is

[ **selca king** ]: come on, it’s in your fucking nickname

[ **tiger gayze** ]: speaking of

[ **Kwon Soonyoung** has changed **Wen Junhui** ’s nickname to “selca (jac)king (off)”.]

[ **selca (jac)king (off)** ]: wow. just. wow.

[ **Jeon Wonwoo** has changed **Wen Junhui** ’s nickname to “jacking off”]

[ **jacking off** ]: holy fuckign shit

[ **ppap** ]: guys are you forgetting about the real problem here???

[ **Lee Jihoon** has changed **Wen Junhui** ’s nickname to “spotlight stealer”.]

[ **tiger gayze** ]: true

[ **hacker voice** ]: true

[ **spotlight stealer** ]: true

[ **ppap** ]: anyway

[ **ppap** ]: i could just order delivery but it’s not rly ideal for the whole safehouse thing

[ **hacker voice** ]: no it wasn’t a girl thing! he totally walked away without paying once

[ **spotlight stealer** ]: YES THATS IT i remember now!! and they didnt even ask him for the money bc they were too scared!!

[ **ppap** ]: GUYS

[ **ppap** ]: also i totally paid like 80% tip the next time i got food from there

[ **tiger gayze** ]: p sure that scared them too

[ **tiger gayze** ]: just go, jihoon. what’s the worst that could happen?

[ **ppap** ]: you were absolutely no help whatsoever

[ **ppap** ] is now offline

 

His order was simple: some fried dumplings with a chicken and jjajangmyun combo. A little heavy on the greasy side, but none of the members are around to judge, anyway. He also would have liked a cola, but by the time he remembered, the cashier had already sent his order back. Too late now. Maybe there’s cola in the fridge back home.

At 11:52PM, the diner is empty, to say the least. It’s a 24/7 place, and since it’s the only one in the area, there’s usually at least a couple of people inside. Funny thing is, the moment Jihoon opened the door, the place seemed to empty out. He didn’t even hear the door open.

Jihoon resists the urge to fiddle with his phone. It’s fine. He’s a grown man who’s allowed to get takeout from wherever he wants, gun in his pocket be damned.

Or maybe that’s the reason why he _can_ get takeout from wherever he wants.

He pulls out his phone and tries to ignore that thought.

 

Private chat: un bon coupzi

[ **le meilleur coups** ]: youre taking inventory on #1 by yourself tonight?

[ **our jihoonie** ]: yep

[ **le meilleur coups** ]: you know its not safe to go by yourself

[ **our jihoonie** ]: hyung i’ve done this countless times before

[ **le meilleur coups** ]: maybe but my point still stands

[ **le meilleur coups** ]: are you there right now?

[ **our jihoonie** ]: no i’m getting dinner first

[ **le meilleur coups** ]: oh. from where?

[ **our jihoonie** ]: you know… the place near the subway station

[ **le meilleur coups** ]: LMAO srsly???

[ **le meilleur coups** ]: you know theyre terrified of you right?

[ **our jihoonie** ]: I KNOW

[ **our jihoonie** ]: i didn’t have much choice in the matter

[ **le meilleur coups** ]: shouldve planned ahead tsk tsk

 

Seungcheol’s last message pops onto Jihoon’s phone just as someone clears their throat to grab his attention.

This server is new. At least, Jihoon doesn’t recognize him. He’s just barely taller than Jihoon and probably about the same in build, too. His jaw is set and his eyes are dark slits as he glares directly into Jihoon’s eyes.

Jihoon tries not to blush.

“Your order,” he says brusquely. He thrusts a bag of takeout in Jihoon’s direction.

Jihoon almost drops his phone. Without breaking eye contact, he slips his phone into his pocket before taking the food with both hands.

“Thanks,” Jihoon replies. As an afterthought, he bows his head a little.

The server bows back. His eyes drop to Jihoon’s collar for a split second before he returns his steely gaze to Jihoon’s.

“Thank you for the generous tip,” the server adds.

“Um.” Jihoon nods slowly. “No problem?”

The server nods in return. He holds Jihoon’s gaze for a little longer, and just as it seems that he’s going to turn and return to his station behind the counter, the bell above the front door jingles.

If Jihoon thought it was quiet earlier, then the diner is absolutely dead silent now. Jihoon can hear the sound of his own blood pumping through his veins in the quiet.

“Jihoon-ah,” Seungcheol calls out, his voice a casual purr.

The server in front of Jihoon looks up with wide eyes. One of his hands fly up to grasp at the apron straps falling over his chest, maybe just for something to hold onto.

A plate breaks somewhere in the kitchen. Despite the distance, the _crash_ is immense like cymbals hitting marble in a vast, vast room.

The server almost trips on himself as he scrambles back to the kitchen.

Shaking his head, Jihoon sighs. He turns and meets Seungcheol’s gaze easily.

“Hyung,” Jihoon greets him.

Seungcheol gives a little wave.

“Have you eaten?” Jihoon asks. He throws a glance over his shoulder at the counter: no one’s there. “Although—I’m not sure if it’d be a good idea to get food here.”

Seungcheol shakes his head. Once he’s close enough, he drapes an arm over Jihoon’s shoulders. “Nah, it’s fine,” he replies as he begins to steer Jihoon towards the door, “I got something on the way here.”

“You couldn’t wait to meet me at the house?” Jihoon asks, an eyebrow raised. He goes along with Seungcheol’s firm guidance nonetheless.

“When I heard you were getting food here, I couldn’t help myself,” Seungcheol explains with a grin.

Jihoon snorts. “Wanted to feel big and important?”

“Jihoon-ah, I don’t need to come here for that.”

“Right.” Jihoon rolls his eyes, though his lips curve into a smile.

 

They’ve done this enough times that it shouldn’t be weird, but Jihoon supposes that’s the keyword—shouldn’t. Maybe he’s the one _making_ it weird. It doesn’t have to be weird if he tries hard enough, right?

Seungcheol unpacks his food from across the table. The dim kitchen light hits his face at strange angles, warped by the brim of his baseball cap, painting him in abstract strokes that Jihoon wishes he could peel away and examine more closely.

Some part of Jihoon craves understanding—he wonders if he’ll ever really know Choi Seungcheol. He wonders if he ever really knew him.

There are parts of Seungcheol he’s certain he knows, parts of Seungcheol that were laid bare without either of their consent. He’s seen Seungcheol beaten and bloody, and he’s seen Seungcheol covered in blood that isn’t his. He’s seen Seungcheol in the pink light of dawn and in black night shadows. He’s seen him desperate, on the brink of destruction, and Jihoon used to think he couldn’t know Seungcheol any more than that.

Or maybe this isn’t so much about understanding Seungcheol as it is about understanding himself—understanding why it is he’d die for this man and why that thought might bother him. Jihoon wonders if it does bother him. He suppose it does, if he’s thinking about it at all, but maybe it’s not that idea specifically. Death is a constant threat, but Jihoon would rather think of it as protecting his loved ones.

“Loved ones”. Maybe that’s what’s making Jihoon second-guess himself.

Jihoon peeks over at the paper bag containing Seungcheol’s food. “What’s in those?” he asks.

Seungcheol fishes one out. Some steam curls upward, past the light of the overhead lamp and into the darkness.

“Only the most succulent and tender meat,” Seungcheol replies. “Look how supple it is.” He gives the doughy exterior a squeeze as Jihoon snorts.

“Pork?” Jihoon hazards.

“You betcha.”

Jihoon gets up to fetch some chopsticks. “Water, hyung?” he asks.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

Jihoon returns to his seat with a jug of water and some cups. Seungcheol takes one with a grateful nod of his head.

They settle at the table in silence. Jihoon tries not to stare at Seungcheol while he eats and feels awkward expending the energy to keep his head down. Quiet fills the room like suffocating cotton, piling higher and higher in Jihoon’s chest until it threatens to spill out of his ears.

“You know,” Jihoon starts, hating the sound of his own voice as soon as it escapes his body, “you don’t have to come out here to watch me every time I decide to do something on my own.”

“I still don’t get why you have to complain about it every time,” Seungcheol replies without missing a beat.

“I don’t _complain._ ”

“So what would you call it, then?”

Jihoon pauses to chew on his food. Seungcheol’s expectant stare weighs heavily upon Jihoon’s shoulders.

“I just…” Jihoon sighs, deflating. “You know. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“And how many times do I have to tell you that it’s not wasting my time? That I come here because I want to?”

Seungcheol takes a bite out of his bun. A bit of meat sticks to the side of his mouth, and his tongue snakes out to remove it.

Jihoon swallows.

“Here,” Seungcheol proposes, “think of it this way: it would take time for me to come here if you were in any sort of danger, and that time could mean life or death.”

There isn’t much to say to that: Seungcheol’s right. It sounds a little paranoid, considering Jihoon is here to maintain their security measures in the first place, but he supposes it’s only fair. Their line of work isn’t exactly safe.

“Besides,” Seungcheol says, “we hardly get any alone time as it is.”

Jihoon chokes on air. He tries not to show it, though, and downs some water in hopes of clearing his throat.

“Y-Yeah,” Jihoon agrees once he puts his cup down. When he looks up again, he finds Seungcheol throwing him a crooked smile, his dimples dark and deep.

Sometimes Jihoon wonders if they’re really meant to be friends. He wonders if they’re really meant to share such easy companionship—and he wonders why he feels like there’s something… missing.

He wonders if he’s being greedy. He wonders what else it is he wants.

“You’ve got something—” Jihoon points out, gesturing to his cheek. Seungcheol swipes his tongue over his lips and its pink, wet tip glistens under the shitty light.

“It’s still—”

Seungcheol tries again, stretching his tongue as far as it will go.

With a sigh, Jihoon leans across the table and wipes off the food with his thumb. As he pulls back, Seungcheol follows him and grabs his wrist. Jihoon is too surprised to resist the hold: he can only watch as Seungcheol lifts Jihoon’s hand to his mouth so he can lick the bits of meat from the pad of Jihoon’s finger.

Jihoon sits back with a rush of breath, his heart pounding in his chest, heavy concrete running lightning-quick.

Seungcheol smirks despite the faint blush colouring his cheeks.

Fighting back a blush, Jihoon returns his gaze to his food. What he wants isn’t the mystery, he realizes: it’s what he plans to do about getting it.

Right now, he’s got nothing. That doesn’t bother him one bit.

 

* * *

 

Soonyoung glances in the rearview mirror for the hundredth time in the span of one minute.

“I can feel your perverted eyes on me,” Seungkwan whines from the back.

“As if!” Soonyoung snaps. “This car would end up in a ditch the moment I laid eyes on your bare skin!”

Seungkwan bristles, his arms wrapped up in his fresh shirt.

The scent of blood lingers in the car. Chan, Hansol, and Seungkwan have already shoved their soiled clothes in a disposal bag, but the job had been pretty messy; Seungkwan would be lying if he said we wasn’t a bit shaken.

Hansol nudges Seungkwan’s leg with his own. His bare chest sports a few red splotches that are slowly ripening into full-blown purples and blues. Seungkwan knows he wears matching marks over his own skin.

“You look fine,” Hansol reassures him.

Seungkwan frowns. His eyes find themselves following the lines of Hansol’s body, the planes of his muscles, the signs of struggle, the red and angry topography of a bad fight. When Seungkwan’s gaze lifts and meets Hansol’s, he finds concern etched into the lines of his face.

“You could try to be more convincing about it,” Seungkwan manages with a crooked grin.

Heaving a loud sigh, Chan flops back against the seat.

“Hey, kid,” Soonyoung calls out, his eyes on the rearview mirror again, “button your shirt.”

“It’s buttoned, hyung,” Chan replies without looking up.

“You call that buttoned? I can see your nipples!”

Chan sits up with a start and looks down so quickly that his chin almost hits his chest.

“Hyung!” Chan cries, flustered. His ears have started to redden at the tips. “Don’t exaggerate! For fuck’s sake!”

“Language!”

“I’m hungry!” Seungkwan complains, interrupting whatever protest Chan had prepared.

“Me too,” Hansol adds. He’s wearing a shirt now, and it helps with the erratic beat of Seungkwan’s heart in his chest.

“I know, I know,” Soonyoung says. His smile is visible in the rearview mirror. “I’ve got you covered.

The kids in the back exchange glances.

They end up in a chicken place. Considering it’s nearing 3AM, Seungkwan doesn’t have it in him to care about the grime caked between the floor tiles, or the flickering light in the far corner of the room, or the stacks of dishes littering some tables—the intoxicating scent of fresh food takes priority. His body kicks back into gear and suddenly he can feel the exhaustion finally, finally seep in, his limbs leaden by his sides.

Seungkwan’s stomach growls. Hansol laughs and slings an arm over his shoulders.

A sleepy server pops into view. They yawn and grab some menus from a folder by the front counter.

“Come this way,” the server mumbles, turning to lead them to a table without a second glance.

They lumber over to one of the clean tables. Comparatively, the table sparkles, and Seungkwan isn’t sure if that says more about the cleanliness of the table or the overall dirtiness of the diner.

They spread out in a curved booth and sit back. The server drops by with a jug of water and a pot of tea before disappearing again.

Soonyoung takes stock of the room, his back straight and his gaze sharp despite the hour.

“Huh,” he murmurs to himself.

“Something wrong, hyung?” Chan asks from his position pillowed against Soonyoung’s side.

After a few more seconds of scrutiny, Soonyoung relaxes some. He shifts his body to accommodate Chan’s weight more comfortably.

“No,” Soonyoung says, a few hints of hesitation slowing his words, “I was just wondering if I brought us to the wrong place. It’s not really important.”

“Yeah, food’s more important right now,” Seungkwan huffs as he leafs through the menu. “The barbecue chicken looks good.”

“Breaded?” Hansol asks, leaning over.

They discuss their chicken options for a while. When the server wanders over again, the server seems more alert than earlier, their back as stiff as a board, a tray clasped against their chest like a shield.

“Hoshi-ssi,” the server rasps.

A wide smile graces Soonyoung’s face.

“Ah, there it is,” he says, his voice heavy with smugness. “Falling asleep there, kid?”

The server nods. “Yeah, that’s why I—” they pause to bow. “Sorry. I—”

Clicking his tongue, Soonyoung lifts a hand. “Hey, it’s cool,” he says, “don’t worry about it. Just take our order, hmm?”

Once everything’s sorted out—“ _Two_ plates of garlic chicken, are you _sure_ , Hansol?” “Please don’t make me say it again, hyung…”—Seungkwan leans back and levels an incredulous look at Soonyoung.

“So what was that all about?” Seungkwan asks.

Soonyoung flashes a grin, his thumb and forefinger pointed under his chin. “Our line of work _does_ come with a few benefits, you know,” he offers in way of explanation.

“Are we eating for free?” Chan questions, lifting his head off Soonyoung’s shoulder.

Rather than sever their connection, Soonyoung slides an arm around Chan’s back and pulls him close again. “Not for free,” Soonyoung clarifies. “Wouldn’t want to put them out of business.”

Hansol sits up and grins. “I remember this place!” he beams. “Good thing I went with the garlic chicken. The salt and pepper is kinda bland.”

“That’s not…” Seungkwan trails off. He takes another look around the diner: if it looked deserted when they first entered, it seems to thrum with some sort of nervous energy now. The air is stiff, a lungful of bated breath, and disturbed only by the distant sound of work in the kitchen.

That familiar rush washes through him just then, that sudden burst of hot and cold energy from a successful hunt. Seungkwan still isn’t great with a gun, and he has yet to kill anyone—he’s not sure how he feels about that yet either: he can’t decide if he’s relieved or ashamed—but he knows the feeling from a successful con. Grinning along with the victim, satisfaction sweet on his tongue, blood pumping quick and hard through his veins—there’s nothing quite like it. There’s nothing quite like fabricating a false reality and having someone buy it hook, line, and sinker.

It’s just a chicken shop. It’s just a grimy, dirty chicken shop serving them at 3AM. But it’s still a win nonetheless, an exertion of power over another, and Seungkwan lives for the rush of victory.

That just might be why he’s in this business.

His stomach settles. His earlier nausea dissipates and he finds the energy to ignore the recurring images of those rolled back eyes, that spreading pool of blood, the stiff bend of unmoving those limbs.

When the food arrives, his stomach jumps again—and yeah, maybe he’s not as calm as he thought he was. His body continues to send him mixed signals—clammy hands, restless legs, heat crawling up and down his neck—but maybe now isn’t the best time to pick them apart.

Hansol puts a hand on his knee. The table stops shaking and Seungkwan realizes he’d been shaking his leg sore. Hansol’s touch climbs a little higher up his thigh before disappearing entirely.

“You okay?” Hansol asks.

Seungkwan feels Chan and Soonyoung’s eyes turn to him, one pair heavier than the other. Seungkwan doesn’t look up from the bowl of rice steaming in front of him.

“Just fine,” Seungkwan croaks.

Maybe he’s still getting used to this.

He thinks of that spreading pool of blood and gives into the urge to scratch at the dry spots on the backs of his hands. Hansol’s hand isn’t there to comfort him this time around.

Someone knocks his foot under the table. When Seungkwan finally looks up, he sees Soonyoung adjust his weight. Soonyoung grins when their eyes meet.

“Eat up, yeah?” Soonyoung says.

Seungkwan manages a smile. “I’ll eat well,” he murmurs and takes a chicken leg.

 

“I want bubble tea,” Soonyoung sighs as they exit the shop. He’s clinging onto Chan’s arm, and Chan does a pretty good job of maintaining a straight face as they walk the dark streets.

“Right now?” Hansol asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I’ll treat everyone, don’t worry,” Soonyoung says. He leans forward and taps a fingertip against Hansol’s nose.

“This greasy hyung…” Seungkwan murmurs with disgust heavy in his tone.

Soonyoung pouts. “Seungkwan-ah, do you not want any?”

A moment of silence unfolds between the four of them in fluttering squares.

“I—I didn’t say that,” Seungkwan mutters. Soonyoung is on him in an instant.

Although Seungkwan cries out in protest, Soonyoung envelops him in a crushing hug. “You’re so cute when you pout, did you know that?”

“Hyung! What the hell!”

When Soonyoung untangles himself from Seungkwan, he laces their fingers together and tugs him down the street.

“I know a good place a few blocks away,” Soonyoung singsongs, ignoring the stiffness in Seungkwan’s arm, “c’mon.”

Hansol and Chan exchange glances before following behind them.

In this part of town, the streets are lit mainly by various shop signs: some are flickering neon; some are blank white interrupted only by plain, sans-serif font; and few are bright and cheery and colourful. The sparse lighting almost hides the sorry state of the streets, the cracks and weeds spilling between rougher patches of dirt, but it can’t mask the odour.

This time around, Seungkwan’s stomach manages to stay strong.

Although it’s late, a few stragglers hang about. They gather in groups of three or four—Seungkwan wouldn’t be caught out here alone either, if he had the choice. A bigger group hanging outside a closed convenience store gives them hard stares, but they stay in place.

When Seungkwan makes eye contact with one of them, the person darts their eyes away. Suddenly Seungkwan’s steps are lighter as he keeps up with Soonyoung’s enthusiasm.

Maybe he can get used to this.

The bubble tea shop is below ground. The steps leading to the barely lit doorway are slightly less dingy than the surrounding area. Soonyoung abandons Seungkwan’s hand in favour of pulling the door open. As Hansol steps forward, Seungkwan finds his hand, seeking warmth to replace the sudden cold left in Soonyoung’s wake.

Hansol glances down at him. When their eyes meet, Hansol offers a gentle smile.

Quiet, tinny pop music plays in the shop when they enter. Seungkwan recognizes an early Girls’ Generation song and can’t resist bobbing his head along.

Soonyoung is leaning over with an elbow balanced on the counter and his head in his hand when the rest of the group catches up. The girl behind the cash looks like she’s around his age and, despite the late hour, seems to be keeping up with Soonyoung’s energy.

However, when her eyes drift and catch Seungkwan’s, Seungkwan can identify a certain nervous quality to her posture.

Seungkwan lifts an eyebrow. The girl looks away.

“I was just about to close up,” she says, a reprimanding sigh wedged between her words, “but you’re lucky I like you, Soonyoung.”

“Thank you, Hyerimmie,” he coos.

Her shoulders tense, but she her words remain playful. “So what can I get you then, boys?” she asks.

Hansol is the first to order. His usual voracity knows no bounds, apparently. Soonyoung is next, then Chan. When Seungkwan approaches the counter, he keeps his order short and simple for the girl’s sake. It’s nice to see their influence around town, but picking on a young girl seems a bit much.

“You seem to know this area well, hyung,” Seungkwan comments as they wait for their drinks.

“I liked to visit more often when I was younger,” Soonyoung replies, hands in his pockets, “like, in the early days, I guess. Never went by myself.” A wry grin twists his features. “Jihoon likes the honey milk tea.”

“How is Jihoonie doing nowadays, anyway?” Hyerim asks, sliding plastic cups across the counter. The boys gather around to pick up their respective drinks.

“Just fine,” Soonyoung replies with an easy airiness.

“I’m kind of glad he’s not with you,” Hyerim murmurs. She straightens up in an instant and adds, “I mean—I think it’s nice to see you’ve made some new friends.”

Soonyoung flashes her a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Right. Well, take care, okay?”

He fishes out a some bills from the inside of his coat—right next to his concealed weapon, just barely noticeable by Seungkwan’s newly trained eye—and sets them on the counter.

“We’ll eat well,” he calls over his shoulder as he turns towards the exit. His companions follow suit without a word.

When they exit the shop, Chan seems to be chewing the inside of his cheek rather than tapioca. Soonyoung drapes an easy arm around his waist.

“Guess she still remembers Jihoon-hyung,” Chan murmurs.

Seungkwan looks over at Soonyoung, who lifts an eyebrow in return.

“She had a bit of a crush,” Soonyoung explains. “But she wasn’t too happy with—you know.”

“What?” Seungkwan deadpans. “Seungcheol-hyung?”

Soonyoung barks out a laugh.

“Well, he didn’t come along until after Jihoon told her about… things,” Soonyoung replies, “but she wasn’t happy to meet him, either. Seungcheol’s only come here once, if my memory’s right.”

“So then what was it?”

Soonyoung mimes cocking a gun.

“Ah,” Seungkwan murmurs.

Soonyoung shrugs. “She wasn’t impressed, but it’s not like he was trying to woo her or anything. But she still couldn’t help herself,” Soonyoung explains, “so when Jihoon ended up having to tell her about his lifestyle, saying it was too dangerous for her to get involved, she was pissed.”

“It was better than lying, in my opinion,” Hansol comments.

“Same,” Soonyoung agrees with another shrug. “I dunno. I don’t think we’re really meant to get, like—civilians involved, you know? Innocents. It’s hard for them to understand.”

Seungkwan looks over Soonyoung’s shoulder and meets Hansol’s eye. Hansol’s gaze is steady and warm—and Seungkwan can feel his ears heat up.

“Besides,” Soonyoung continues, stepping between Hansol and Seungkwan to put his arms around their shoulders, “who needs a girlfriend when you have friends like you guys?”

Seungkwan glances up at Hansol again. This time, Hansol can’t meet his eye.

“I think ‘friends’ doesn’t cover all the bases,” Chan sighs. He pats Soonyoung’s chest. “Come on, hyung. Let’s go home and get to bed.”

“Is that an offer, Channie?” Soonyoung coos. His hold drops from Seungkwan and Hansol a little too quickly and finds purchase around Chan’s waist.

“Hyung—oh my _god_.”

As Soonyoung and Chan hobble back to the car, Seungkwan watches them go. Some distance builds between them before Seungkwan decides to follow along.

“Um, hey,” Hansol starts, skipping to catch up, “was there—uh, I mean—” He sighs and tries again: “You okay?”’

Seungkwan sends Hansol a quick sideways glance.

“Just fine,” Seungkwan replies quickly, easily. “Why?”

Hansol’s arm brushes against Seungkwan’s as they walk. His steps drift closer, almost over Seungkwan’s, but Seungkwan learns to adjust his stride without much trouble.

“Just checking,” Hansol murmurs.

Again, Hansol’s arm knocks against Seungkwan’s. Huffing, Seungkwan links their elbows together and tugs Hansol along.

“They’re getting ahead of us,” Seungkwan complains, “let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey—if you’re gonna eat in here, you could at least share,” Mingyu whines. He takes a swipe at Minghao’s bag of chips, but Minghao pulls it away from him.

“You’re the one who hates getting the wheel dirty,” Minghao reminds him.

Mingyu’s hand falters on the gearstick. He sighs.

“Fine,” he mutters as he puts the car into gear.

When Mingyu glances behind him to reverse the car, he finds Seokmin grinning at him from the backseat. Although Mingyu sighs, he smiles back.

“Don’t look at me with that face,” Mingyu complains.

Seokmin shifts his expression, widening his eyes and letting his tongue hang loose. Mingyu laughs.

“I need to focus!” Mingyu cries.

Giggling, Seokmin ducks his head out of Mingyu’s line of sight.

Driving with Mingyu is an experience. Seokmin also has his licence, but he can’t drive like Mingyu can. It’s hard to put into words; Mingyu takes care of his passengers in such a _doting_ manner, fiercely protective yet coddling all at once. The same can be said about Mingyu’s personality: he’s very soft in the heart of things, and soft still around the edges, but he possesses hidden strength and viciousness he calls upon when necessary.

Most of the time he plays a supportive role—caretaker, driver, sometimes secretary—so he hasn’t had much opportunity to reveal the sharper side of him. Seokmin is mostly glad about that.

With practiced fingers, Mingyu turns on the stereo and the latest girl group single fills the car. Minghao puts his chips in his lap and starts to dance along. Seokmin is quick to join him, albeit with less precision and more silliness.

The bubbly pop music serves as a stark contrast to the dead of the night outside. Street lamps fill the car interior with light every few metres, a mostly consistent blip like morse code, as they speed down the roads. Industrial and commercial buildings tower over them, blurs of light reflected off countless glass panes, the combination of street lamps and road signs and so much glass blending into an urban mosaic that would be pretty if it didn’t also carry a cold, artificial aura. Then again, Seokmin supposes that things don’t necessarily need to be alive to be beautiful.

 _“You guys close yet?”_ comes Wonwoo’s voice over the radio, low as always, rumbling thickly through the car walls.

“Another fifteen minutes, hyung,” Mingyu replies.

“Need any help with cleanup?” Minghao asks.

 _“Nah, it’s already taken care of,”_ Junhui replies, onsite with Wonwoo. _“I’m starving though.”_

 _“Same,”_ Wonwoo adds.

“I can make you something when we get back,” Mingyu offers. “Or did you want to get something while we’re out?”

 _“It’s too late to make a fuss in the kitchen,”_ Junhui says. _“Let’s not wake any of the kids when we get back.”_

“Is anything open this late?” Seokmin asks.

Minghao looks over his shoulder and grins at Seokmin. “There’s always someplace open if you know where to look,” he tells him.

 _“Yeah,”_ Wonwoo agrees, _“usually some shady diner or whatever. Lucky that I’m craving something greasy.”_

 _“Like the smear of that guy across the pavement?”_ Junhui jokes. Seokmin can imagine the strangely mirthful smile that must be stretched across Junhui’s face.

 _“I was thinking of something fried, maybe,”_ Wonwoo deadpans. _“Or soup. That’s a little closer to that guy.”_

“Gross,” Mingyu complains. “How can you have an appetite while being so, like, morbid?”

 _“Don’t worry your pretty head about it,”_ Junhui says. _“This is why we do the hard work while you pick us up.”_

 _“A good chauffeur knows not to ask stupid questions,”_ Wonwoo adds. His smirk curls the syllables of his words.

“I’m not a chauffeur,” Mingyu whines.

“Chin up, buddy,” Minghao tells him, patting his shoulder. “At least he called you pretty.”

“I don’t need to be _told_ that!”

Seokmin falls back against his seat, clutching his stomach as he laughs.

 

 _Disconcerting_ might be able to describe the bright smiles on Junhui’s and Wonwoo’s faces that appear when the car rolls up. _Disturbing_ might be a little closer, but Seokmin tries his best to stay positive in times like these— _times like these_ being moments of nausea brought on by the smell of blood and stagnant water.

Minghao hops out of the passenger’s seat and goes around to the trunk. When he reappears, his arms are full of fresh clothes.

“So, what, did you dump the body into the lake?” Minghao asks conversationally as he sits on the hood of the car.

With an incomprehensible yet petulant whine, Mingyu unfolds himself from the driver’s seat before proceeding to shove at Minghao in hopes of dismantling his perch. Minghao doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo replies. His eyes are trained on the buttons of the new shirt draped over his shoulders.

“What? That’s it?” Minghao questions.

Junhui shrugs. His face disappears into his newly acquired black sweater, and when it pops out of the neck hole, it’s stretched with a crooked smile.

“I mean, his body is in the lake, yes,” Junhui supplies. “In a few pieces, probably.”

“‘Probably’,” Seokmin echoes with disbelief.

“Didn’t bother to check,” Wonwoo adds. He replaces his glasses upon his nose and looks over at Mingyu. “So, what’s the verdict about dinner?”

Mingyu visibly wilts. “Please don’t ask me,” he croaks.

Minghao pulls out his phone and begins scrolling. “I can check what’s open,” he offers.

Wonwoo places a warm, and slightly condescending, hand on Minghao’s shoulder. “I know what’s open,” he says, “but I wanted to know if anyone had any preferences.”

Huffing a breath, Minghao rolls his eyes. “Okay, know-it-all hyung, if you say so. But,” he stops to offer Wonwoo a smile, “if you’re asking, I say we get Chinese.”

“I second that,” Junhui says.

“But we already have you guys,” Wonwoo states. His face is completely blank, maybe even on the side of bemused.

Seokmin and Mingyu laugh. Minghao and Junhui heave heavy sighs.

Wearing a wide grin, Wonwoo slings his arms over Minghao’s and Junhui’s shoulders. “Come on,” he says, a slight laugh buzzing through his chest, “lighten up. I’ll cover dinner, if that’ll make you feel better.”

Junhui perks up. “Oh, wow,” he breathes, “now that you mention it, I’m starving.”

“I kinda liked the soup idea,” Seokmin pipes in. “Like, before you compared it to that dead guy. But I think I can get over it if you’re paying, hyung.”

Wonwoo disentangles himself from Minghao and Junhui in favour of rustling Seokmin’s hair. “I know a place with good soft tofu stew,” he says.

Seokmin grins at him. He hopes it might serve as a bit of light out here in the dead of the night; he hopes it might help them ignore the weight of their actions, the hints of shadow embedded into their every move.

“Come on,” Wonwoo continues, giving Seokmin a pat on his bum, “let’s get in the car and get out of here.”

When they pile into the car, it’s easier to forget about the pieces of human, among who-knows-what, floating in that lake. Seokmin is more than happy to turn his back to it. Dirt crunches under the wheels as Mingyu turns the car around, masking the sound of the lakeside insects crooning under the moonlight.

Minghao curls a comfortable arm around Seokmin’s elbow as he chats with Junhui. Wonwoo took over the passenger’s seat to help with navigation, and Seokmin doesn’t mind the added bodies back here with him. In fact, it comforts him, knowing that everyone’s back in one piece.

“Channie won’t be happy that you just threw that knife away like that,” Minghao admonishes Junhui.

Smiling sheepishly, Junhui shrugs. “The dude’s skin jammed the folding mechanism. Felt fitting to throw it in there with him, you know? Keep all his pieces in one place.”

“Gross,” Mingyu whines.

“You should have seen him,” Wonwoo says, picking up where Junhui left off. “Almost all his fingers were gone, and his thumb was barely hanging on thanks to that switchblade—”

“Gross! Gross, gross, gross!” Mingyu cries. “Shut up, or I’m gonna turn the car around!”

Wonwoo cackles, leaning back in his seat. “Mingyu-ya, you’re too easy.”

The tips of Mingyu’s ears turn pink. “You think you can get away with that just because you’re older than me?” he asks indignantly.

“Among other things,” Wonwoo replies smugly.

“Get a room,” Minghao calls.

“Don’t encourage him!” Mingyu yelps.

The car dissolves into laughter. Seokmin balances his chin in his hand as he turns his gaze towards the window. Streetlamps blink back into existence as they return to that previous urban landscape with all the glass and the wiry networks up above.

At this point, Seokmin doesn’t think too much about the ease with which his crew members settle into a light and friendly mood. Sure, there’s a dead dude scattered in indeterminate pieces in some lake on the edge of town, but it’s whatever, you know? Seokmin’s just along for the ride, literally and figuratively.

It’s strange to say, but he feels safe. Safer than he has been in a long time.

It’s really strange to say, so he keeps his mouth shut.

The city surrounding them is not quite asleep, but not quite awake, either. It hums with energy lying beneath its concrete skin, the thrum of stragglers keeping each other awake, the rumbling, collective snore of daydwellers sleeping away. The car doesn’t roar as it speeds down the road, but it puffs its chest and smirks, maybe.

It’s exhilarating. And Seokmin thinks that goes without saying.

“Soft tofu stew,” Wonwoo singsongs from the front seat. “Can’t wait for soft tofu stew!”

Seokmin holds back a giggle as his brain returns to the present. It’s exhilarating, deceptively secure, and strangely soft, all of this. But he supposes that none of those things are mutually exclusive, are they?

Mingyu begins to harmonize with Wonwoo’s improvised food chant and that’s when it all descends into chaos.

 

**END ACT ONE**


	8. INTERMISSION 1.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: VERY IMPORTANT DETAIL THAT I MEANT TO PUT BUT FORGOT AS I WAS WRITING
> 
> THANKS ANNA FOR INADVERTENTLY REMINDING ME

You know how in movies, when people say “it can’t get any worse than this”, it gets worse? Seungcheol feels like that’s his current life situation.

Things were going fine. Great, even, considering he _wasn’t_ in god-knows-where with only the clothes on his back, running from god-knows-what. He almost had enough money to buy a dog. His apartment was clean and he made enough money to get take-out from his favourite restaurant a few times a month. He had friends he went out with on Fridays and his family checked up on him whenever he was feeling lonely.

What do you even do when it turns out that your client is involved with the mafia? Seungcheol is—was?—a fucking _personal trainer._ It’s one of the most mundane things he can think of. He’s known people who, like, hit up clubs every week and try whatever trendy new drug there is if the opportunity comes up. You know, “wild” things. The wildest thing Seungcheol has ever done is get wasted on a work night. This sort of thing isn’t meant to happen to him.

What do you even do when it turns out that your client is involved with the mafia and has prepared _you_ as his scapegoat just in case shit hit the fan?

 

 

Groaning, Seungcheol struggles to sit up. His ears are ringing and his lungs are two dead weights leaden in his chest. He’s sprawled on his back—he thinks. Numbness has claimed his extremities, though the feeling is slowly returning, fire crawling through his neurons at a snail’s pace.

When the fog in his brain clears up just enough to bring his head back to his shoulders, Seungcheol realizes two things: one, he has no idea where he is; and two, it is _fucking_ freezing. That probably explains the numbness.

It’s dark. Light creeps across the floor, cold steel plates that do nothing to help the situation, in thin rays, white artificial stuff. It’s blocked by the occasional wooden crate.

Seungcheol uses a ridiculous amount of energy just to sit up. He braces his weight on one of the crates and drags himself upwards. The movement elicits a muted screech from the crate as it drags across the steel floor.

“Fuck!” hisses a hoarse voice.

Seungcheol freezes. He’s probably about two inches from shitting himself. He has nothing to protect himself besides his own body, and that’s what he needs to protect. But who is he to know that the other occupant of this room is hostile?

He doesn’t get a chance to think much about it. A curtain of long hair peers around the corner of a crate, and with the flick of a wrist, Seungcheol is faced with a pair of dark, bloodshot eyes.

Seungcheol stares. The eyes stare back. About a minute passes as they stare at each other, breathing quietly, moving the thick, cold air just slightly, just enough to disturb the hair on the back of Seungcheol’s neck.

“So,” the other person says after a while, “since it doesn’t seem like you’re about to kill me, I assume you’re not with them.”

“With who?” Seungcheol replies, his voice leaving his body in a rough whisper.

The stranger’s mouth pulls into a wry grin.

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it,” the stranger says. “I don’t know. I have no idea what the _fuck_ is going on.”

The way this stranger bites out the word _fuck_ seems to encapsulate the viscous concoction of confusion brewing in Seungcheol’s chest: it is so simple and yet so fierce, so hollow and yet so full and round with fear, apprehension, bemusement.

Seungcheol sits up a little straighter. He bows as much as his beaten body will allow him to.

“Well,” Seungcheol starts, “if anything, you know me. Well—I mean, you will. I’m Choi Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol’s new-found companion bows back.

“I’m Yoon Jeonghan,” he replies. He pushes back some of his long, long hair before he crawls around the crate to face Seungcheol completely.

There are dark marks around Jeonghan’s wrists, just visible under the pullover he’s wearing and in the dim light. It occurs to Seungcheol, then, that he should probably investigate his own body for damage.

Although Seungcheol aches all over, sore to the bone and maybe even further, there is pain focused around his ribs and wrists. The last thing Seungcheol remembers is going out for an evening run, and he’s still dressed in his athletic wear. Other than that, the damage seems to be superficial; Seungcheol is deeply grateful for that, at least.

Seungcheol drags a hand through his hair.

“I guess we should start with where we are,” Seungcheol says. He lifts his head through the molasses of pain encasing his body and scans the area. It hasn’t gotten any brighter since he first evaluated his surroundings, but his eyes have since adjusted to the dark. There are only crates as far as the eye can see.

“I think we’re on a vehicle of some sort,” Jeonghan supplies. “I’ve been awake longer than you—how long, I don’t know, since they took my phone and my watch—but we’re going pretty fast and far from what I can tell.”

Something metallic creaks in the distance. Now that Seungcheol is more alert, more awake, he realizes that the noise had been recurrent.

“I think we’re on a train?” Jeonghan continues.

“Sounds reasonable,” Seungcheol replies.

With a nod, Jeonghan adds, “yeah, I—well, I haven’t really… to be honest, I haven’t been assed to really look around.”

“Scared shitless, right?” Seungcheol hazards with a grin. The expression is more teeth than anything resembling mirth, but the strangely sewn together shades of sardonicism are lost to the darkness.

“Yeah,” Jeonghan breathes, a laugh squeezed somewhere under his tongue.

“I get it,” Seungcheol reassures him. “But,” he continues, “now that we’re acquainted, it might do us better to just… combine our efforts. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jeonghan agrees.

They get to their feet with a groan each. It takes a lot more effort than Seungcheol deems necessary—either he’s less fit than he thinks or he was beat more than he initially thought—but he manages to stand upright.

The room is also bigger than Seungcheol first estimated. He could probably lay himself out three times across the length of it. It’s still not much to look at, however.

“Hey,” Jeonghan says from across the room. His voice is tight, stabbed through with fear. The blood stays in, though. “I found something.”

Seungcheol pads over. As time passes, his strength returns to him bit by bit, and he hopes that, by the end of this, he’ll be fit to—what? Run? That, at the very least.

When Seungcheol peers over Jeonghan’s shoulder to inspect the inside of a crate, his heart stops. The contents of his stomach—a lush combination of air and water—roll before threatening to rise through his throat.

“Oh,” Seungcheol whispers.

The crate contains guns. The interior is littered with scuff marks and a hint of gunpowder. It was probably full at one point, probably to the top, but all that remains is a couple of—small ones. Handguns? Pistols? Most of Seungcheol’s gun knowledge comes from video games. He knows revolvers are the ones with the spinning chambers.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol stand in silence, staring at the contents of the crate like they could come alive at any moment and kill the two of them where they stand. The room jumps—a bump in the tracks if Jeonghan’s suspicions were correct—and the guns jostle.

Both Jeonghan and Seungcheol flinch back, throwing their hands in front of their faces. When nothing happens, they slowly deflate, lowering their arms. They exchange looks.

“Well,” Jeonghan says. His voice is thick and hoarse all at once. Taking a deep breath, he leans over the lip of the crate and picks up one of the guns.

“I—” Jeonghan pauses to take another deep breath. “I don’t know how to tell if this is, like, loaded or anything, but…”

Seungcheol nods his understanding as Jeonghan trails off. It’s better than nothing. It’s better than stepping out there and being completely defenseless.

Seungcheol reaches in and pulls out a weapon as well. It’s… heavy. It’s cold and weighty and just holding it sets Seungcheol’s heart racing.

“To be honest, I don’t even want to mess with it,” Jeonghan tells Seungcheol. He lifts the gun to eye-level, maintaining a careful distance between any bodies in the room, and points it in front of him. “But it might be useful to, like, you know—pretend.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol agrees. He mimics Jeonghan’s pose just to test the weight of the weapon. Seungcheol has held many heavy things in his life, but not one so loaded, both literally and figuratively.

Eventually, the two confirm that nothing else in the room is particularly interesting. They settle against one of the crates again, still stiff with nervous tension, and exchange a couple of looks.

“So,” Seungcheol starts, “where are you from?”

“Seoul,” Jeonghan replies. “And you?”

“Daegu.”

Turns out that Jeonghan is a student working on his Master’s degree and he’s the same age as Seungcheol (they exchange high fives at that).

“If I had to guess,” Jeonghan muses, “I’d put my finger on Doctor Kim Saeyang. He’s one of my profs, been working with me very closely—and you know old guys. Run their mouths without thinking twice. He has a gambling habit, but I didn’t think it’d land me here.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen at that. “Gambling—” he groans and puts his head in his free hand, mindful of the gun in the other. “Of course. Dongyoung—one of my clients back at home—had kind of a… side hobby he alluded to every now and then. Tried to explain the beer gut he had. And when you gamble away all you money, who do you go to?”

“Loan sharks,” Jeonghan sighs. “Bullshit. I thought that was shit you only see in movies.”

“Well,” Seungcheol replies, a hysterical laugh hanging onto the hinges of his jaw, “this is something I’d never expect in real life, that’s for sure!”

The look Jeonghan gives him is at once full of concern and full of understanding. The strange shape of Jeonghan’s mouth must resemble the expression Seungcheol feels he’s making.

The room lurches as the train comes to a sudden stop. Jeonghan collides with Seungcheol’s side and it takes all of Seungcheol’s energy not to cry out in pain. His head swims a little, black spots gnawing at his vision, as he’s reminded of how beat up he is.

However, once they right themselves again, Seungcheol and Jeonghan look at each other. The moment is brief, but the message is clear: this is their chance to get out.

During their earlier inspection, Seungcheol had found a latch to what he assumes is a door. He heads straight for it and pulls. However, a worn-out padlock keeps it secure.

“Hold on,” Jeonghan grunts. He pulls Seungcheol back and hefts his gun. Instead of firing, though, he uses the butt of the handle to bash at the lock. It takes a few tries, but eventually he breaks through.

Seungcheol lays his palms flat on the metal panel before him. He failed to find a handle on the exit, so he hopes the friction between his skin and the metal will be enough. Scratch that: it has to be enough.

Something thuds in the distance. The sound is dull and rhythmic and it grows louder as the seconds pass.

Footsteps. Someone—or some people, Seungcheol can’t tell—is coming.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Seungcheol pulls harder. Jeonghan grows more frantic as well, copying Seungcheol’s movement and breathing hard with effort.

When the door screeches open, Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to jump. Luckily, it’s not a far drop, and his feet crunch gravel when he lands. He holds a hand out to assist Jeonghan, and then he’s making a break for it.

Cold hits him first. Next is the smell—the odour of gasoline and stagnant water assaults his nose from all angles. Still, Seungcheol needs to _get out_ —god knows who shoved them into that train full of _guns_ and god-knows-what.

Jeonghan is close behind him, gravel spraying in his wake.

Seungcheol’s sense of time is completely skewed: he can’t tell if it takes seconds or minutes for the gunfire to start. They’ve gained enough distance to help throw off the shooters’ aim, but who knows what they’re packing? They could have sniper rifles for all Seungcheol knows.

As they run, they come closer and closer to another set of train tracks. The gravel gives way to pavement and a rumble in the distance signals an incoming train.

Seungcheol looks up. Not too far from them is a platform bustling with people.

The gunfire in the distance lets up. They’re too close to the public eye for closer pursuit. But Seungcheol chances his first glance behind him and sees that they’re being chased on foot instead.

“Come on,” Seungcheol grunts, making a grab for Jeonghan’s wrist. Jeonghan stumbles as he’s pulled along, desperately trying to match Seungcheol’s pace and failing, but he manages to stay upright.

The train station is blocked off with steel fencing. Seungcheol follows it until he finds a dip in the metal, worn by the elements. He pulls it down far enough to jump over it, then he turns back to help Jeonghan. At this point, they’re both heaving for breath, but they can’t stop now.

Once Jeonghan is on the other side, Seungcheol tries to bend the fence back to its original state. He manages to lift it about a foot higher. It droops back down despite his efforts.

People are staring now. Seungcheol feels eyes on him from across the train tracks, but he keeps his head down.

“Hey,” Jeonghan whispers. He tugs on Seungcheol’s occupied hand—right. The gun. Fuck.

Gingerly, Seungcheol tucks it into his sweater pocket. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jeonghan pull off his sweater and wrap it around his weapon.

The rumbling is closer now, but if they leg it, they’ll only draw more attention to themselves. As Seungcheol scans the area, the rumbling transforms into a roar and—fuck it. They’ll just have to deal with the consequences later.

Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan leap across the quaking train tracks. They scramble up some emergency stairs and onto the platform. A large number of people are staring at them now, but it turns out that not even half of the people there seem to give a damn. Thank god for small mercies.

The train comes to a grinding halt. Seungcheol and Jeonghan board without looking back.

 

* * *

 

As the conductor calls out stops, Seungcheol and Jeonghan realize that the train is heading to Busan. Seungcheol doesn’t know anyone there, but it’s a big city—he should be able to find some help.

“I’ve never been to Busan,” Jeonghan whispers to him. They’re pressed up close together, forced into each other’s space due to the sheer amount of people on the train, but Seungcheol couldn’t care less. Some part of him appreciates the warmth.

“We’ll figure things out,” Seungcheol whispers back. “Don’t worry.”

They get off with a crowd of people. It ends up closer to the edge of the heart of the city, right where the streets peter off into suburban territory.

The sun has set and a few streetlamps flicker above them. Cold begins to bite at Seungcheol’s skin, invited by his falling adrenaline.

“Maybe we ought to go into town,” Jeonghan suggests, his voice just above a whisper. There’s no reason for him to whisper—no one’s around except for a couple of students heading home—but Seungcheol leans in nonetheless, enabling him. “We could—I don’t know. Talk to the police? Borrow a phone?”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to reply, but a sudden _bang!_ interrupts his train of thought. Both he and Jeonghan freeze and stare at each other for a split second, and then they’re running, heading towards the tranquility of the residential area.

All Seungcheol can think is _run, run, run, get away, find safety_. The words sprint through his head at the same pace as his legs, hurtling forward at full speed, blinded by fear.

That is, until he runs bodily into someone just turning the corner. Jeonghan trips on them as Seungcheol and the newcomer collapse in a pile of limbs.

That’s it. Seungcheol can’t take it any more. His body is sore and exhausted, and the sudden impact sends a thousand bolts of pain through his body at once. He wails once, unadulterated distress, and flops onto his back, defeated, tears brimming in his eyes.

“Jihoon, what the fuck—holy shit.”

“Um—”

The person currently situated between Seungcheol’s thighs—Jihoon, the functioning part of his brain tells him, if that other floating voice is to be trusted—manages to sit upright. He lifts his hand from Seungcheol’s side, and though the extra weight has been lifted, it still feels as if there were hundreds of pounds slowly crushing Seungcheol’s skeleton.

“Um,” Jihoon says again. Panic bleeds into his voice, but Seungcheol is too tired to care.

There’s a hand in his face now, blurry with movement and Seungcheol’s unshed tears.

“Are you okay?” Jihoon asks.

“What the hell does it look like?” asks the second voice. It’s not Jeonghan, so Seungcheol assumes it must be Jihoon’s friend. “Let’s just help him up, Jesus Christ.”

It takes Jihoon, Jeonghan, and Jihoon’s friend to lift Seungcheol onto his feet.

“Heavier than he looks,” Jihoon’s friend grunts.

Seungcheol has no energy to find the remark insulting.

The four of them shuffle down the street. Some time passes, Seungcheol can’t tell how much, and eventually they end up at a tiny bungalow right on the end of the street. A porch light flickers on as they approach the front door.

“Water,” someone says. Seungcheol thinks it’s Jihoon, the voice right by his ear. He realizes Jihoon is supporting his weight from under his arm.

“Gotcha,” the friend replies.

In a blur of movement, Seungcheol is guided to a bed. There are some muffled voices in the distance, but as Seungcheol settles his weight onto the mattress, his ability to concentrate buckles further.

“Hey,” Jihoon calls. Seungcheol blinks his eyes open and catches Jihoon’s gaze.

Dark circles rim the man’s eyes, made darker still as Jihoon’s head blocks the ceiling light. Seungcheol follows the slope of Jihoon’s nose, the curve of his mouth, the slant of his cheekbones, and ends up staring at a small mole at the corner of one of Jihoon’s eyes.

Jihoon’s friend approaches, holding a glass of water. Once Jihoon turns to take it, the spell is broken and Seungcheol can feel his consciousness slipping away again.

“Hey!” Jihoon shouts. Seungcheol sits up a bit.

“Drink some water before you pass out. Please,” Jihoon entreats him.

After a bit of struggling, Seungcheol accepts the glass. He spills a little as his hands shake, but he manages to down the whole thing.

Sighing softly, Jihoon sets the glass by a bedside table.

“Relax,” Jihoon murmurs. Seungcheol doesn’t need to be told twice.

Jihoon adds something, but Seungcheol’s already out before the words can hit his ears.

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol wakes up to voices he doesn’t recognize in a bed that’s not his.

The weight of reality is a little too much to stomach as soon as he comes to, so he decides to stew in it for a little bit.

“No one’s picking up,” Jeonghan’s saying, his voice high-pitched with panic. “No one’s picking up!”

“H-Hey,” says Jihoon’s friend. “Hey, it’s—”

“Shut up!” Jeonghan screeches. “It’s _not_ gonna be okay!”

There’s a crash followed by tight footsteps. A few minutes pass and the pacing stops.

“...I’m sorry,” Jeonghan sighs. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“Hey,” Jihoon’s friend tries again. “Listen, we’ll work it out. We’re not just gonna leave you out here to fend for yourself.”

Seungcheol turns onto his back. Fabric rustles and Seungcheol cracks his eyes open to check it out.

Jihoon’s shifting from his position in an armchair just a few feet away from the bed. He rubs at his eyes and pulls his phone out of his pocket, examining the screen. Seungcheol turns his head a tiny bit and finds a digital alarm clock on the bedside table, its red numbers lighting up a glass of water beside it. 7:09AM.

Seungcheol tries to sit up. His body shuts down that attempt almost immediately and a small groan filters out of his mouth.

“Hey,” Jihoon croaks. Seungcheol’s eyes flick over to look at him. “You okay?”

“No,” Seungcheol replies. His voice is even hoarser than Jihoon’s—which is funny, apparently, since Jihoon laughs.

“Sorry,” Jihoon apologizes, sounding about 0.05% sincere, “you just—you sound—” He pauses to yawn and leaves the thought hanging. It’s fine; Seungcheol got the gist of it.

Jihoon rubs his eyes one more time before sliding forward in his seat. He extends his arm, his phone hanging loosely from his fingers.

“Here,” he offers. “I hope you have more luck than Jeonghan…”

Seungcheol glances up and sees Jeonghan hunched over a tiny plastic kitchen table with Jihoon’s friend at his side rubbing circles onto his back.

When Seungcheol looks Jihoon’s phone, he feels his stomach jump. No use delaying it, though—he takes it and punches in his mom’s number.

It rings. It rings for a few rounds before going to voicemail. It’s a little early in the morning for his mom to be awake, so he doesn’t find anything too suspicious about it. But when he goes to redial, he hesitates. Maybe there’s a reason she’s not picking up. Maybe the people who put Seungcheol in this mess went after her too, just in case.

Seungcheol stares at the screen, at the numbers laid out on the display. He stares long enough that the phone eventually locks itself and goes blank.

“Seungcheol?” Jihoon calls, wariness slowing the syllables down.

Seungcheol sits up and balances his arms on his knees. He takes a few deep breaths, focusing on the sound of the air coming through his nose, the sound of his heart beating in his chest. Then he turns to Jihoon and holds his phone out.

Jihoon gets up and takes the phone. He slips it into his pocket before seeking out Seungcheol’s gaze.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jihoon hazards. The sentence ends on a high tone, questioning, but curious and cautious, too.

“Even if it’s not my phone, I think it’s too dangerous to contact any of my family,” Seungcheol states. He swallows down the lump in his throat and continues: “I think… I need to either get home by myself—and not die on the way there—or get back at whoever did this.”

After digesting Seungcheol’s decision, Jihoon nods. He returns to his seat and balances his elbow on one of the chair arms.

“I hate to say this,” Jihoon starts, “but you’re damn lucky that you ran into me and Soonyoung and not anyone else.”

Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow. “And why’s that?” he asks.

Jihoon holds Seungcheol’s gaze for a while, silent, picking his next words carefully.

“We found… a gun on you earlier,” Jihoon says. “I assume that has to do with… all this?”

It hits Seungcheol, then, that he hasn’t explained a thing to the person so kindly lending him his bed. He flusters, then flusters further when he realizes he doesn’t know where to start.

Jihoon leans back in his chair and nods.

“There’s been a… bounty of sorts,” Jihoon says. Seungcheol shuts his mouth and nods furiously. “Around these—parts.” Sighing, Jihoon gathers his hands in his lap and looks down at them. “I’m not saying I’m _involved,_ at least not directly, but—”

Jihoon’s friend—Soonyoung, Seungcheol assumes—pops his head into the doorway and says, “some friends of our friends of our friends said to look out for some meathead with a cartilage and lobe piercing on his left ear. Answers to the name Choi Seungcheol, has huge doe eyes and pouty lips.”

Seungcheol touches his mouth, suddenly self-conscious.

“That’s—me?” Seungcheol intones.

Jihoon nods. “At least, it all matches up. I assume someone was taking you away to cash in the money, from what Jeonghan told us—but it seems to me this is not as clear-cut as we were led to believe.”

Soonyoung settles against the doorway and adds, “there was a tip about Jeonghan, too, but we didn’t think it was related to your case.”

“It’s not,” Seungcheol clarifies. “Well, at least, I don’t think so. I didn’t know who he was before waking up in the same shit as him.”

Quiet filters into the room, dense fog clogging Seungcheol’s ears.

“Can I…” Seungcheol starts. Both Jihoon and Soonyoung turn their eyes to him. Seungcheol clears his throat and tries again: “Can I ask—how much was the bounty worth?”

Jihoon and Soonyoung exchange glances.

“Seventeen billion for you,” Jihoon replies haltingly, “and thirteen billion for Jeonghan.”

“At least mine’s higher,” Seungcheol states, trying for a laugh. Soonyoung and Jihoon humour him with mild chuckles.

Sighing, Seungcheol sits up fully. His body complains with every shift of his muscles, but at this point, it has dulled to something bearable, like he’d pushed his limits too far during a workout and was paying for it now. And that’s not too far away from the situation—he did push his limits quite far yesterday.

“So,” Seungcheol says. He balances his weight on his elbows against his knees, looking up at Soonyoung and Jihoon while hunched over. “I take it you guys are gonna take us in, then?”

Again, Soonyoung and Jihoon look at each other.

“Just because we live in a shitty house doesn’t mean we’re shitty people,” Soonyoung replies around a strange laugh. “Okay, well—I guess it depends on what you mean by shitty.”

“How about—neutral good. Or true neutral?” Jihoon suggests.

“Please don’t bring your nerd terminology into this.”

“It’s universally known!”

Seungcheol furrows his brow. “Dungeons and dragons?” he guesses.

Jihoon lights up. “Yes,” he replies, a smile stretching his lips. The expression doesn’t last long, however, as he schools his emotions back to stoicness. “That’s not the point, though,” he adds.

“What we’re trying to say is,” Soonyoung cuts in, “that while we don’t have any intention to throw you under the bus, we’re not gonna give up this opportunity to make some cash. You get me?”

“Sounds like neutral good to me,” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon laughs, bright and clear like windchimes. “Maybe,” he says, “though I think it’s a little too selfish to qualify it as ‘good’.”

“That’s fine with me,” Seungcheol replies. “I’d rather take revenge than the higher moral ground, to be honest.”

On one hand, it feels weird to say that—to embrace violence he’d normally shy away from. Again, he considers himself a very mundane person who would only ever wield a weapon in video games. But when he remembers the sharp sounds of gunfire blasting behind him, when the pain coursing through his system flares too strongly for him to ignore it, he thinks that maybe he’d be willing to get some payback. Consider it character development. What has he got to lose?

Soonyoung approaches Seungcheol and claps an arm over his shoulders. When Seungcheol flinches in pain, Soonyoung loosens his grasp and goes for a gentle pat instead.

“Then you’ll get along just fine with us,” Soonyoung tells him. “We’re in the business of revenge and all things scummy.”

Jihoon grimaces. “Don’t listen to his crap,” Jihoon says. “It’s more like we’re in the business of taking money from people in ways that aren’t exactly legal.”

“It’s fine,” Seungcheol responds with a slight laugh. “I’m not asking any questions. Well, not about that in particular. I do have questions about our next move, though, like—for example, what it might be.”

Soonyoung pats Seungcheol’s shoulder again. “We’ll take your questions after a food break—what’re you feeling like?”

Like absolute crap, Seungcheol thinks. Lost. Scared. Exhausted. But, he thinks as he glances between Soonyoung on his left and Jihoon on his right, at least he’s not alone.

“I dunno,” Seungcheol says, “what’s good in Busan?”


	9. INTERMISSION 1.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> other kpop groups named are mostly just for show and a tiny bit for continuity. it's no reflection on them as groups ^^

Seungcheol feels slightly better once there’s food in his belly. He’s sipping at some coffee while seated at Soonyoung and Jihoon’s tiny plastic kitchen table. Jihoon sits across from him, Soonyoung between them, and Jeonghan sits on Seungcheol’s left.

“We only know as much as the next guy,” Jihoon starts as a disclaimer, “since we’re not really part of a group or anything. But we help people out, people more important than us, and they drop information every now and then.”

“Only because Jihoon is small and cute and our older friends like to coddle him,” Soonyoung pipes up. Something under the table shifts and Soonyoung flinches, reeling his leg closer to his body.

“No one asked, Soonyoung,” Jihoon hisses. “Anyway,” he continues, “there’s been some major turf wars going on lately, some of the older groups having to fend off some of the younger, greedy ones. But age doesn’t always give the advantage when you’re hungry and have overpowered weapons, and—”

“Jihoonie,” Soonyoung cuts in again, “let’s not give them the political version.”

Jeonghan leans forward. “You might as well,” he says. “It might prove to be useful later.”

Jihoon looks over at Soonyoung and grins. Sighing, Soonyoung waves his hand in Jihoon’s direction in a “go on” gesture.

“One of the bigger groups, EXO, has been losing members for some reason,” Jihoon explains. “No one is one hundred percent sure why, and I think they’re eager to let us speculate. Anyway, Nu’est, not as old or as big as EXO but still very powerful, has been slowly branching out with the help of After School, taking advantage of this loss of manpower.”

“We’re trying to stay out of it,” Soonyoung adds. “We know a few of the members on an individual basis: Jihoon has been kinda chummy with one of EXO’s guys, Chanyeol—”

Jihoon’s mouth twists. “I, um, play piano on the side, and he plays guitar,” Jihoon says in ways of explanation, although brief. When he speaks again, he thrusts out a hand as if to physically block Soonyoung from interrupting him again. “ _ Anyway, _ yeah, we’ve been trying to stay out of it. But some bank CEO—”

“Jung Dongyoung,” Seungcheol fills in, eyebrows furrowing.

Jihoon tilts his head. “Yes,” he says slowly, “Jung Dongyoung. And this is where you come in. He handles a lot of EXO’s money, so Nu’est thought of that as a weak point. When Dongyoung heard that they might come after him, he fled. So Nu’est and After School decided they’d go after whoever was next in line: apparently, that was you.”

Seungcheol sits up straighter. “Me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says with a nod. “They’ve been recruiting people to scout Daegu in search of Dongyoung—and to collect you too, which is why we’ve heard about it.”

“We didn’t want to take up the job offer,” Jihoon continues, “but I guess we kind of ended up with it in our laps.”

Seungcheol looks down at his coffee cup. He can see his shadow in the brown liquid and it shimmers as he lets out a low, low sigh.

“I mean—” Seungcheol starts. “Isn’t the most logical decision here to give me up to EXO?”

“What!” Jeonghan cries. “What do you think they’ll do to you when they find out you don’t have any money?”

“Uhh—let me go? It’s not like I did anything.”

Shaking his head, Jihoon leans across the table, seeking out Seungcheol’s gaze. When their eyes meet, Seungcheol feels his stomach sink to his knees.

“Considering how desperate and tense things are right now, I don’t know if these guys are capable of mercy right now,” Jihoon says softly.

A sudden screech of chair legs against old wood echoes through the house as Soonyoung leaps to his feet.

“I have the greatest idea!” he announces. He’s holding a finger into the air. Jihoon reaches out and tugs at Soonyoung’s elbow until the finger falls. Even though Soonyoung acquiesces, he maintains a proud look.

“So what is it, genius?” Jihoon snarks.

Wearing a sheepish smile, Seungcheol replies, “I’m all ears as well.”

“Jeon Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jeonghan’s brow furrows. “What?” he asks.

Jihoon lifts an eyebrow. “What’s he got to do with any of this?”

Frowning, Soonyoung lowers his arms and braces his hands onto the table. When he’s met with only blank stares, he sighs, hanging his head between his shoulders.

“Okay, since you guys obviously can’t keep up with me, I’ll explain it to you in simple terms,” he says. This time, he dodges when Jihoon kicks out a leg in his direction. “We need to find the money Dongyoung left behind. We can decide what to do with it later, but it’s the key thing here, right? It’s what everyone’s after: it’s what they’re expecting from Seungcheol, so obviously we can use it against them!”

“What do you mean ‘decide what to do with it later’?” Jihoon demands, bristling. “Even if we somehow manage to get our hands on that money, it’s probably, like, billions and billions! People would be on us immediately!”

“Then we get to make demands!” Soonyoung counters.

“They’d kill us the moment we opened our stupid mouths!”

“So then we gotta make sure they can’t do that!”

“And how do you propose that?” Jeonghan cuts in.

Soonyoung falls quiet. He holds up a finger again, this time in Jeonghan’s direction. “Okay, you got me there.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes.

“I’m not sure how this all works,” Jeonghan says, “but I mean—I’m sure weapons would help. Maybe hole up somewhere with the money, like some sort of vantage point.”

“Well, we’ll need money for the weapons, too,” Jihoon sighs. “I don’t know—it seems like such a huge risk.”

“Huge risk, huge payout.” Soonyoung grins and puts his hands on the table. “C’mon, Jihoon! It’ll be our first real heist!”

“With a crew of just us and two civilians?” Jihoon pauses and looks at Jeonghan and Seungcheol. “No offense,” he says to them.

“None taken,” Jeonghan replies.

“Well—we can learn how to handle a gun, at least,” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon gives him an appraising look. “You’d just need target practice,” Jihoon says slowly. “Though with a semi-automatic weapon, it might not be so bad.” He turns to look at Jeonghan. “But—do you think you could handle the kick of a gun?”

When Seungcheol looks over, he sees Jeonghan’s face set into a grim expression. “I could learn,” he states.

Soonyoung throws an arm over Jihoon’s shoulders, drawing a wince out of him. “If they’re willing, give them a chance!” Soonyoung exclaims. When Jihoon remains silent, Soonyoung deflates a little, his eyes taking on a softer shade, something familiar and brotherly. Something sharp flutters in Seungcheol’s stomach at the sight—something longing, something worried, fear for his own brother, maybe a bit moreso than his own life.

“These guys,” Soonyoung starts, his eyes and voice lowered and aimed at Jihoon, “they’ve got nothing to lose at this point. I know this isn’t usually our game—but don’t you think it’s time we’ve moved on from slow and steady? It’s not ‘safe’—nothing in this business is. It’s just stagnation at this point.”

Sighing, Jihoon presses his cheek against the curve of Soonyoung’s shoulder. “I hate it when you’re right,” he mutters, just loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room.

“You’re lucky it doesn’t happen often,” Soonyoung shoots back. A grin adorns his features, but it’s wry, on the edge of sombre.

“I’ll contact Wonwoo,” Soonyoung adds. “He might have something to say about everything, too—maybe something smarter than what we’ve got.”

“Not a really high bar at this point,” Jihoon sighs. “We could use a sounding board, that’s for sure.”

Jihoon’s chair creaks as he gets to his feet. “Well, if you’re taking care of Mr. Hacker Guy, I’ll take care of them,” he says, pointing a thumb in Jeonghan and Seungcheol’s direction. After receiving a nod from Soonyoung, Jihoon turns to face his two new recruits.

“We don’t exactly have, like, an armoury, but we’ve got enough stuff to cover our bases, I think.” He holds Jeonghan’s gaze for a second, then Seungcheol’s; afterwards, he waves a loose hand and turns on his heel. “Follow me.”

 

* * *

 

Jihoon’s small form has little room for patience. He doesn’t exactly have a knack for teaching, but he knows how to direct people—that is to say, his firm tone and precise hands are more than enough to send shivers down Seungcheol’s spine.

Once they clean up after breakfast, Jihoon leads Jeonghan and Seungcheol down a few alleyways. Even though the morning sun is bright in the clear sky above them, the shadows from the buildings sprouting out of the ground are enough to provide cover.

Seungcheol doesn’t bother keeping track of where they’re going. His surroundings blur into grimy grey brick speckled with stubborn bits of nature, little tufts of weeds and grass creeping between cracks in the urban landscape.

Eventually, Jihoon leads them to a warehouse. It is by no means small, but its height creates a dip in the composition of tall buildings around them. There are several entrances with tall, shuttered doors; Seungcheol supposes this place was built to receive shipments at some point in time. Jihoon passes by those doors and heads toward an iron door off to the side. It looks like a fire escape; upon closer inspection, Seungcheol can see that the door has been reinforced with sheets of metal.

Seungcheol and Jeonghan exchange looks but remain silent.

Beeps bounce along the metal as Jihoon inputs a code into a number pad. It’s a long, complicated thing despite Jihoon’s pressing the buttons quickly.

When the sequence finally comes to an end, there’s a longer beep. The door swings open. Jihoon beckons Seungcheol and Jeonghan to follow him as he steps inside.

The building has a high ceiling; that’s the first thing Seungcheol notices as he steps inside. The thud of his footsteps across the concrete floor echoes around him. The air is cool yet very, very still. There are ventilation ports near the ceiling, shuttered windows opened just slightly.

“We generally use this place to test weapons,” Jihoon starts, his voice clattering around them, “so it should be suitable for shooting practice.”

“You don’t, like, practice between jobs?” Seungcheol asks.

“Work  _ is _ practice,” Jihoon deadpans in reply, a strange, wry smirk curling his lips. “Though I guess I could use some more practice.”

All along one wall of the warehouse hangs an assortment of guns. They’re organized into panels, and from what Seungcheol can tell, maybe by size?

Jihoon stands in front of the panels and holds his chin in his hands. After a moment of consideration, he walks over to the end of the wall and pulls a metal chain. The panel closest to the floor slides upwards behind the panel above it, which starts to slide downwards.

Once the panel is within reach, Jihoon walks over to it and picks out a gun.

“Here,” he says, catching Seungcheol’s eye. 

Seungcheol swallows his unease and closes the distance between himself and Jihoon. Just like the last gun he handled, this thing is heavy, both in physical weight and abstract implications. 

Can he kill someone with this? And that question covers his capacity to shoot true and his will to bring another human being’s life to an end.

_ It’s either me or them, _ some part of his mind whispers, dark and cold and solid with truth. Seungcheol tightens his grip around the weapon and steps back as Jihoon hands something off to Jeonghan.

Jihoon walks them through the process of firing. Parallel to them stands a couple of paper targets. It takes a few tries, but eventually, Seungcheol manages to tear an elbow off his assigned target.

His heart races in his chest, his blood rushing loudly in his ears. Holy fucking shit. The  _ power _ on this thing—he can’t find the words to describe it. In fact, his head’s a little light on his shoulders; he starts to wonder if he’s breathing properly.

Although Seungcheol’s hands are shaking, almost numb from it all, his fingertips tingle when Jihoon turns and meets his eye. The expression on Jihoon’s face isn’t quite proud, but there’s heat there, perhaps a hint of admiration and—something else.

Seungcheol feels blood rush to his face. He’s pretty sure it’s better off somewhere else, but he’s not really in control of that right now.

They continue shooting until the faint, faint light trickling in through the overhead air vents dies out. Jihoon smacks the heel of his palm against a button in the wall and a loud  _ beep _ echoes through the warehouse, a staticky warning alarm.

“Alright, guys, that’s it for tonight,” Jihoon calls out. 

He collects the weapons from Seungcheol and Jeonghan and replaces them on the wall.

“So what exactly is this place?” Jeonghan asks conversationally. He’s rocking back and forth on the balls of his heels, whittling away at the remains of his nervous energy. “Like, what was that button you pressed there? Doesn’t seem like an emergency alarm or something.”

“This was a manufacturing place some time ago,” Jihoon replies. He’s locking up supplies as he talks. “For, um, sports jerseys, I think. There are still some spools of thread lying around in the nooks and crannies.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. The beep back then was to signal the workers that some machinery was hot, I think. Or in use? I don’t remember,” Jihoon tries to explain.

Jihoon kicks a door closed. When he turns to face Jeonghan and Seungcheol again, he spreads his hands out a bit. “Um,” he starts, “I’m not really good at these sorts of things, but—you guys did pretty well, all things considered.” He pauses to rub the back of his neck. “I know this is all still… new to you guys, but I’m sure you understand that this whole thing is kind of time sensitive.”

“Kind of,” Jeonghan repeats, crooking his fingers into air quotes.

Jihoon huffs. “You know what I mean,” he grumbles.

He begins to lead them out of the warehouse. Seungcheol catches up to him and puts a palm over his shoulder. It’s a nice fit: their height difference makes the gesture more comfortable than Seungcheol was expecting, given their situational relationship.

“He’s just joking,” Seungcheol tells him. Jihoon tenses just slightly when their bodies make contact, but he doesn’t shrug Seungcheol off.

“I know,” Jihoon replies around a sigh. “No hard feelings, all that. Like I said, I’m not really good at this kind of thing.”

“Maybe,” Seungcheol says, “but considering the alternative, I’m more than grateful for your help.”

A small and wry grin cracks across Jihoon’s face. “That so?”

There’s something else skirting the surface of Jihoon’s tongue, some other words heated with something that piques Seungcheol’s interest, but then Jeonghan steps into their space and pops the bubble that had just been beginning to form around them.

Jihoon’s gaze lingers on Seungcheol’s for a moment longer. Then Jihoon reaches into his pocket, his brow furrowed.

“Oh boy,” Jihoon mumbles as he holds his phone up to his face. “Mr. Hacker Guy decided to pay us a visit after all.”

“Who is this guy, anyway?” Jeonghan asks.

“A friend of ours from high school,” Jihoon replies. “He’s good with computers. He’s kind of a force to be reckoned with when he gets bored—so sometimes we recruit him for jobs to keep that boredom at bay.”

“Do you think he’ll really be able to help us with this whole—fuckery?” Seungcheol asks.

Jihoon’s lips curl in a wry smile. “We’ll have to find out and see,” he says cryptically.

Seungcheol isn’t sure if he likes the sound of that.

 

* * *

 

Soonyoung and a lanky-limbed man with glasses are tangled up together on the couch when the three of them return. There’s a laptop balanced atop their thighs and the visitor is squinting at the screen while chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Craning his neck around to face them from the couch, Soonyoung offers a strained wave. “Hey guys!” he greets. His gaze shifts to Jihoon. “I got Wonwoo to help.”

“You missed the show, Jihoon,” Wonwoo comments. His deep voice is coated with syrupy amusement. “He got on his knees and everything.”

“Uh—I’m not sure that’s something I would have wanted to see, anyway,” Jihoon replies haltingly.

“Guy’s got a silver tongue,” Wonwoo adds. Seungcheol isn’t sure if this is one big euphemism or not. 

Seungcheol hazards a glance at Jihoon’s expression. Jihoon’s face is blank and somewhat weary, but Seungcheol’s pretty sure that’s his default expression. In any case, it doesn’t clear up the situation at all.

“You’re making me sound like—some sort of desperate wreck,” Soonyoung whines.

“You’re not?” Wonwoo scoffs. “Could have fooled me.”

Jeonghan gives Seungcheol a sideways glance. Seungcheol shrugs.

Dragging a chair over from the kitchen table, Jihoon rounds the couch and sets himself up next to Wonwoo. “So what’s the situation?” Jihoon asks.

“I’m trying to retrace Dongyoung’s steps,” Wonwoo answers. “I know he was in charge of EXO’s money, but there’s no way he kept it all in one place. I’m sure there’s some link between all of them, even without the obvious one. With what I already know about EXO’s spending habits—”

“Aron gave us some paperwork like an hour ago,” Soonyoung interjects in explanation.

“You let him know we’re working on this?” Jihoon asks, eyebrows raised.

Soonyoung shrugs. “I tried to be vague. But he’s a smart guy.”

Wonwoo snorts. “‘Kwon Spoiler’ at it again,” he mutters.

Rolling his eyes, Soonyoung elbows Wonwoo in the ribs. “Listen, the point is he knows I was  _ trying _ to be hush-hush, which is what matters, okay!”

A wisp of a sigh flutters out of Jihoon’s mouth. Still wearing that blank and unreadable expression, Jihoon lifts a hand and gestures at Seungcheol and Jeonghan. The two of them exchange looks again before approaching the couch.

“Sorry there aren’t enough chairs,” Jihoon apologizes, a weird and sheepish smile on his lips, “but, uh—feel free to bring some from the kitchen.”

Wonwoo glances up at them. “Hey,” he greets, “so you guys are the ones who got suckered into this shitfest, huh?”

Jeonghan curls his mouth into a not-quite smile. “To put it one way, yeah.”

Seungcheol gives a slight bow. “I’m Choi Seungcheol,” he says. Jeonghan follows suit and introduces himself as well.

Wonwoo bows his head, unable to do much with his body in his current position. “I’m Jeon Wonwoo. Please don’t believe any of the lies and slander both Soonyoung and Jihoon have probably been spouting about me.”

“Hey! Who do you think I am?” Soonyoung cries. He wiggles his fingers in the vicinity of Wonwoo’s stomach, making him writhe against Soonyoung’s side. “I’ve only ever said nice things about you, you asshole!”

Jihoon sighs, though there’s a small smile on his face. “This is how we deal with stress,” he says in explanation. “I swear they’re taking it seriously.”

Eventually, Jeonghan and Seungcheol wander over to the kitchen to grab some more chairs. The line of seats curls around Wonwoo’s side of the couch. Seungcheol is sitting in his chair backwards, his arms resting on the back of it.

“I’ve found a few small caches,” Wonwoo states, “little transactions to placeholder accounts all around Daegu. I’m trying to find out more about Dongyoung’s personal banking info, but it’s all coming up blank.”

“Should we leave you to your devices for the night, then?” Soonyoung suggests. One of his hands rests on Wonwoo’s knee, just past the laptop balanced on his thigh.

“Probably. If I tried to explain what I’m doing, I doubt you guys would be able to keep up.”

“So modest,” Jihoon comments.

“Ask Aron if he can provide any more info,” Wonwoo adds. His fingers still over the keyboard for a second, and then he looks up and catches Seungcheol’s eye. “Oh, and—you. Seungcheol.”

“Yeah?” Seungcheol answers.

“I’ll look up your info in case the guy swapped numbers—can you help me out here?”

“Of course,” Seungcheol replies with a nod.

Giving Wonwoo’s knee a firm pat, Soonyoung moves to his feet. “Let’s get some dinner, then,” he says. He turns and catches Jihoon’s eye. “I’m guessing the fridge is empty?”

Jihoon’s eyebrows rise. “Neither of us had time to go grocery shopping since this whole thing began, as you well know,” he snarks.

Soonyoung sighs. “Just making sure.” He slings one arm around Jihoon’s shoulders and the other around Jeonghan’s. “It’s cool. We can grab some takeout or something.”

“Just not from the place on First. I think their night workers recognize me now.”

“Yikes.”

“Tell me about it.”

Their chatter floats through the house until it’s cut short by the door.

With some hesitation, Seungcheol takes Soonyoung’s old seat. The couch cushions are warm despite the cool distance between his body and Wonwoo’s.

Water drips in the kitchen sink. The standing lamp in the corner of the living room flickers and the shadows from the drooping plant next to it do a little dance.

Wonwoo looks up at Seungcheol. “Hey,” he says, his voice soft in the stifling silence filling the house, “listen—I know this is all… sudden. But I promise we’re putting our all into this.”

Seungcheol nods. He swallows down the dryness in his throat with some difficulty. “I know, and I appreciate it very much,” he replies. His words sound robotic to even himself. Wonwoo doesn’t flinch, however; he simply nods.

“I’m sorry about the bad luck,” Wonwoo adds, not quite an afterthought, though it lacks the particular weight of true sympathy. Seungcheol finds he doesn’t mind.

“Thanks,” Seungcheol mutters. He leans over to look at the laptop screen when Wonwoo points at it and answers Wonwoo’s questions as best he can.

 

* * *

 

After a round of fried chicken and plain rice, they manage to string together a loose plan. Taking money out of one of Dongyoung’s accounts might not alert EXO, but tackling them all at once probably will. So each of them will take one account every day, and they’ll just have to pray that their trail isn’t too obvious. 

“It all doesn’t add up to how much Dongyoung  _ should _ have,” Wonwoo states, settling greasy hands just over the kitchen table. “So I think it’s safe to assume that there’s, like—a vault or something.”

“So this  _ is _ gonna be a real heist!” Soonyoung cries.

Jihoon wipes at his face. “You fucking spit on me,” he grumbles.

Soonyoung flinches and drags his chair farther from the table. Seungcheol thinks it’s safe to assume that Jihoon probably kicked him again.

“Hiding his shit in Daegu seems too obvious, but I’ll double check just in case,” Wonwoo explains. “Might be good to beef up defenses in the meantime.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Jihoon replies dryly.

Wonwoo ends up leaving around midnight. He mentions something about “having a  _ real _ day job, unlike some people”. His departure reminds them all of the time and they decide to call it a night; Soonyoung gives Jeonghan his bed and takes the couch. Jihoon gestures vaguely at his bed while making eye contact with Seungcheol before curling into the worn armchair in the corner of his bedroom.

Despite Seungcheol’s exhaustion, sleep escapes him. He stares up through the window beside the bed, tracking the movement of the clouds across the sky. Eventually, the dark fluff crawls across the moon and obscures the stark white light.

Seungcheol sighs as quietly as he can. He slips out from under his blanket and tries his best to leave without making a sound. The door creaks just slightly—Seungcheol stares at Jihoon’s huddled up form. He doesn’t stir.

The night air is cool against Seungcheol’s skin, sliding up his arms from under his shirt. It’s nothing in the face of the fervent fear furrowing through his body.

They’re really going to do this. There’s a real plan with real consequences and real dangers.

But it’s not like Seungcheol has any better options. He doesn’t know what’s lurking out there, what could be looking for him, what could be tracking him this very second. Maybe it’s not even a good idea to step outside at all, but he just couldn’t stay cooped up inside with this nervous energy threatening to burst from him.

On his third round going up the sidewalk, Jihoon steps into his space. Jihoon doesn’t move in front of him; in fact, it looks like he’s ready to fall into step with Seungcheol.

“Melatonin helps, I find,” Jihoon says. His voice isn’t exactly loud, but in the dead of the night, it seems to be an entity on its own. The vibration climbs up Seungcheol’s spine and settles somewhere in the base of his skull.

Seungcheol hesitates. He comes to a stop in front of Jihoon.

“Helps with what?” he asks.

“Sleeplessness,” Jihoon replies simply. “And exercise keeps you awake, in my experience.”

Seungcheol nods. “Yeah,” he says with a nod. “I mean, I wasn’t out here to exercise, or anything.”

Jihoon snorts. “You looked like you were sprinting up and down the street, Seungcheol.”

“Maybe you’re still waking up?” Seungcheol asks around a shaky laugh. When Jihoon doesn’t say anything, Seungcheol casts his eyes to the ground. He rubs a hand up the length of his arm; the cool of the night has started to creep into his body now that he’s stopped moving.

It takes a sizeable amount of energy for Seungcheol not to jump out of his skin when Jihoon lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Do you…” Jihoon stops and licks his lips. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks on his second try.

Seungcheol wants to laugh. He smiles instead; he imagines the slant of his mouth must border on manic, but Jihoon doesn’t flinch.

“What is there to talk about?” Seungcheol replies. “I basically got conned out of, of existence—I got fucking kidnapped and shot at. I barely escaped with my life. I have no idea if I’m still being followed, or if I’m safe here with you guys, or if I’ve just sentenced you guys to death as well. I don’t know what’s going on with my family—and Dongyoung has all my contact info. It wouldn’t be hard to look my parents and my brothers up on google, for fuck’s sake!”

Seungcheol takes the barest hint of a breath before he continues: “And for what? For what? Just because I happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time? Shit happens, right? Fuck.” He croaks out a groan, squeezing his eyes with the heels of his palms.  _ “Fuck. _ I just couldn’t imagine that shit  _ this bad _ could happen. I’m still waiting for the moment I wake up from this fucking nightmare.”

The hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder squeezes the flesh there. The gesture makes Seungcheol realize how tense he is.

“I don’t have anything to say that’ll make this situation any better,” Jihoon says quietly. His expression is all dark shadows and sharp edges, but the lines of his mouth and eyes are soft spaces of refuge in the landscape of his face. “And it might not be a great comfort to hear this, but I just—I just want you to know that we’re here for you. I’m here for you. Despite the fact that we just met like, a day ago, I just want you to know that we’re gonna fight our hardest to keep you safe, above all.”

Seungcheol sighs. He deflates inch by inch, quiet without the words to express the rampant fear raging havoc on his mind—and he doesn’t think there are words in existence to truly describe it all. He shrinks into Jihoon’s touch until Jihoon’s cradling him with ginger hands.

He supposes he can only go up from here. At least he has Jihoon and Soonyoung and Jeonghan and Wonwoo to help him up. And he can only hope that it’ll be enough.


	10. INTERMISSION 1.3

**** Seungcheol finds him in a run-down loan centre—you know, the kinds you go to when you want to send money overseas to your relatives back at home. If he’s being honest, Seungcheol has no idea how these kind of businesses operate: he’s never had to transfer money that way. 

The guy is a little spindly but incredibly good-looking. He’s not small—on the skinny side, sure, but he’s not short—but the way he holds himself makes him look like he’s trying to take up as little room as possible. Just laying eyes on him sparks something in Seungcheol that makes him want to approach the guy and ask him what’s wrong.

Seungcheol is also a little nervous as he approaches the counter. He’s supposed to take one of Donyoung’s money caches from this little place by transferring money between accounts. There’s no way the guy behind the counter can know who Seungcheol is—right? He spent the ride over here trying to determine the probability of him being caught, but his anxiety had been pretty adamant in telling him that chances are high.

That’s why he’s carrying the gun in his back pocket, he supposes.

Seungcheol balances an elbow on the counter and leans forward to read the guy’s name tag.  _ Hong Jisoo  _ is written in a simple font.

“Hi,” Seungcheol greets him. “I came here to get some money transferred?”

Jisoo nods. He licks his lips, a nervous gesture Seungcheol thinks, as he watches Seungcheol dig up some paper from his pocket.

“I’ve got my info right here,” Seungcheol explains, setting the paper down on the counter so that the writing is legible to both him and Jisoo. It has Dongyoung’s account info printed in pretty official-looking font, if Seungcheol says so himself.

He slides the paper under the slot in the window separating Jisoo from the outside world. Jisoo takes it and lifts it so he can read it.

“And how much would you like to—” 

When Jisoo stops talking, Seungcheol’s heart stops with him. Silence crashes over Seungcheol’s head like a pile of bricks.

Jisoo sets the paper down on his side of the counter, his hand shaking so hard Seungcheol thinks he can hear Jisoo’s skeleton rattling.

It takes a minute or two, but Jisoo speaks up first, his voice barely above a whisper: “Where did you—how did you—” He stops to swallow. Seungcheol thinks he can hear the muscles in Jisoo’s throat working. “Who are you?” he settles on.

Seungcheol looks around. The establishment is empty minus the voluminous racket of his heart beating in his chest.

“My info’s right on there,” Seungcheol replies. His voice leaves his mouth smoothly and he thinks he deserves a damn pat on the back.

Jisoo’s eyes shoot down at the paper. He swallows again. “But you’re not—” Jisoo starts. He stops and takes a few deep breaths. When his breath is calm, he plants both hands on the counter and stares Seungcheol in the eyes. “I know you’re not him,” Jisoo whispers, “but listen—I’m not with him. I’m not. I mean, at least—I don’t want to be.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Who are  _ you?” _

Jisoo glances away for a second, but his resolve stays true. He points at his nametag and says, “Hong Jisoo. I’m an accountant—well, I was supposed to be. But I’m, like, I just graduated a couple months ago and my parents thought it’d be a great gift to send me over here for work.” He pauses to take another shaky breath. “I’m from L.A., I’m American. My Korean—it’s not amazing. I was only supposed to be here for a little while, but…”

He shrugs with his whole body. The tremor in his bones almost drowns out the gesture, but Seungcheol thinks he gets the gist of it. 

“You’re not who you say you are, but that must mean you’re not on his side—right?” Jisoo asks. "Probably the opposite."

"He came for me first," Seungcheol spits, sudden and defensive and abrupt to the point where he has to take a step back. That's not the point of this—he might have found a possible ally and getting hostile won't help.

Jisoo is quiet as he observes Seungcheol with sharp eyes. He's young, maybe around Seungcheol's age or even younger. He needs to get out of this mess just as much as Seungcheol does and he might be an important key to achieving that goal.

"I trust you," Jisoo says, his words cautious and slow as they enter the room. "Getting this info, these numbers—that couldn't have been an easy thing." Another shaky breath escapes his body and he rakes a hand through his hair. 

"Listen," he starts, "my shift ends in a couple of hours. I can tell you everything I know if you pick me up later—and promise to keep me safe."

Seungcheol nods. They exchange contact info on more scraps of paper, receipts Seungcheol finds in the jacket Soonyoung lent him, and that's the last thing they do before Seungcheol leaves that little shop one ally stronger.

 

* * *

 

Jisoo helps confirm the money caches Wonwoo found. There are a couple Jisoo tells them about that Wonwoo hadn't found, but that money is negligible compared to the rest of it.

"You're right about the vault, though," Jisoo says, leaning away from Wonwoo's laptop. "I know it exists: I've heard about it. But I've never seen it, so I can't say where it is."

"It's still good to know we're not on some wild goose chase," Jihoon points out.

Jeonghan nods vigorously. He'd found a spot next to Jisoo when he found out that they were the same age, since Jisoo introduced himself a few hours ago. It was kind of a rush job, but time is of the essence; they will have time for proper introductions when lives are no longer on the line. Or, at least, when things are not as dire.

"I couldn't find anything nearby," Wonwoo continues, "and Seoul is not only far away, but fucking huge."

"That's the goal, though," Soonyoung states. There's a glint in his eye that excites and unsettles Seungcheol at the same time.

"...It can probably wait until after we're done with Dongyoung," Wonwoo says around a sigh. "Anyway, my hunch is that the vault is in Daegu—you're most comfortable at home, right?"

There is a round of nods around the table. 

"I think that makes sense," Jisoo replies, nodding again. "I've handled a lot of transactions while I was with him and they went all sorts of places, Seoul included. But I can double check to see where the majority of them went."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Seungcheol says, setting his palm flat on the table. Jisoo looks up at him and sends him a small smile.

 

Somewhere along the way, Nu'Est and After School get involved, too. It's mostly Soonyoung's fault—or at least, that's what Jihoon says when Seungcheol asks about it one night.

"I mean," Jihoon says, a small small on his face, "we could really use the backup. They want a share of the money, but there's enough money to go around. We just won't get the throne Soonyoung was probably fantasizing about.”

Seungcheol rubs the back of his neck. 

"It's honestly the least we could do, considering how they've looked out for us all these years," Jihoon finishes, returning to his phone.

Seungcheol doesn't ask anymore questions that night.

 

A couple weeks pass as they collect Dongyoung's money. The man himself hasn't returned from hiding, and there's no word of him scuttling about, either: no clues, no fingerprints, no whispers, nothing. It's a little suspicious, but Seungcheol appreciates the quiet; it lets him focus on the task at hand.

"He owes people money," Soonyoung explains to him when Seungcheol finally asks. "Like, a  _ lot  _ of money. Probably more than he has. He was probably planning on collecting these caches when the dust settled or whatever. Who knows. But people want to kill him, you know? Even his own guys. He probably won't poke his head out for a long while."

Seungcheol nods. He's starting to learn that he doesn't want to ask as many questions as he thought he did.

 

It has been about a month and a half since Seungcheol’s life was flipped and turned upside down. He doesn’t want to say he’s used to being here, in a home in which he found refuge out of coincidence with people he literally stumbled upon and a life outside of the law, but he fears he might have to face the reality of things.

Can he really go back home once this is all over? Can he really come back to his apartment in Daegu and pick up things where he left off?

At this point, he’s not sure.

Only Jihoon and Seungcheol occupy the bungalow at the moment. Jeonghan no longer stays with Soonyoung and Jihoon: Jisoo offered him his couch back at his tiny apartment on the edge of the business sector. When coming back to the bungalow, Jeonghan comes in “disguise”—meaning that he and Jisoo swap clothes and wear big sunhats. Good thing they’re in fashion nowadays.

It’s quiet. The kitchen sink still has an incessant drip—no time to repair it just yet—and the floor lamp by the lonely houseplant still flickers every now and then. These homely quirks no longer irritate but serve as tools to keep Seungcheol grounded.

His company is quiet, too. Jihoon is busy on his phone, sprawled out on the couch with one leg thrown over the armrest, his form a relaxed slouch against the backrest. On the other side of the room, Seungcheol can throw glances in Jihoon’s direction as he cleans up dinner.

“Wonwoo says he’s coming over,” Jihoon says. His voice bounces around the room, accompanied by the clatter of kitchenware. “Says he made a discovery that will, quote, ‘knock your socks off’.”

Seungcheol snorts. “That sounds lukewarm.”

“Considering who it’s coming from, I’d say it’s a huge deal.”

The thick quiet disperses when Seungcheol starts the water to wash the dishes. The crash of water against the kitchenware beats out whatever thoughts have begun to sprout between the cracks in Seungcheol’s head.

It’s jarring when Seungcheol turns off the tap and silence rushes through his ears like a gust of wind. It almost steals the air right out of him.

He looks at Jihoon sitting a few feet away. Jihoon looks small and young like this, eyes glued to his phone, shirt pooling around his sides, one foot dangling above the floor and the other tapping out a silent beat against the hardwood. There is no trace of the criminal—for lack of a better word?—Seungcheol knows him to be.

If he’s honest, Seungcheol doesn’t consider Jihoon to be much of a criminal. But then again, he’s never been out there on the field with him. At this point, Seungcheol sees him more like—like—a caretaker? A mentor?

Seungcheol’s eyes follow the lines of Jihoon’s body. This is not the first time his gaze has run this course, and some part of him thinks he’ll run it again and again. Jihoon takes on so many forms Seungcheol doesn’t think he can ever know them all.

Jihoon looks up. Heat fills Seungcheol’s cheeks, but it’s not quite a full on blush.

The sink continues to drip. The floor lamp flickers and shadows dance over Jihoon’s features.

Jihoon opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it,” Seungcheol says hastily. He thanks whatever deity must be watching over him that his voice actually comes out of his tight throat.

When he opens the door, Wonwoo is nearly pushed into his chest.

“Big news, big news!” chants Soonyoung from behind him.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes at Seungcheol as he grabs onto one of Seungcheol’s arms for support. Laughing, Seungcheol steers him into the kitchen where the rest of them take a seat.

Followed by Soonyoung is Jeonghan, Jisoo close on his heel. One of his hands hovers near one of Jeonghan’s.

Soonyoung is bouncing in his seat as Wonwoo fishes out his laptop from his bag. Before he opens it, however, Wonwoo reaches over and smacks Soonyoung right in the forehead.

“If you keep moving around like that, you’re gonna poke someone’s eye out,” he admonishes. When Soonyoung responds with a pout, Wonwoo rolls his eyes again, his lips curled into a strange half-smile that betrays his tone.

“Anyway,” Wonwoo says as his computer boots up, “you guys won’t believe where the vault is.”

“Daegu,” is Jeonghan’s immediate response, like he was answering a test.

Wonwoo quirks an eyebrow. “Yes, we established that a while ago. Don't worry, you're not getting graded or anything."

For a second, it looks like Jeonghan is about to wilt from embarrassment, and his eyebrows do tremble for a moment or two. However, he dismisses it with a wave of his hand and settles back in his seat. Jisoo leans over, hands braced on the back of Jeonghan's chair, and smiles in Jeonghan's direction.

"Please tell me it's not in some seedy basement out in the slums," Jihoon deadpans.

"Gladly," Wonwoo replies. "It's not. I want to say it's the opposite, but I think it's just a different end of the 'sleazy criminal hideout' spectrum."

"Oh," Soonyoung says, "so it's, like, a casino or something, right?"

Seungcheol resists the urge to do a double-take. "Like in the movies?" he asks.

Wonwoo holds his hands up and shrugs a little. "You'd be surprised by how many cues people take from the media. Or maybe filmmakers use real life as inspiration; take your pick."

Wonwoo's laptop finishes booting up and Wonwoo opens up a few programs. A city map loads onto the screen.

Pointing at a section of the map, Wonwoo explains, "it's not in a high-end area or anything, but that acts as cover for whatever kind of shit the guy gets up to. Lots of traffic, and from the pictures I've seen of the establishment, a lot of security."

"Fun," Soonyoung mumbles.

"And you'll be taking care of cameras and all that, right?" Jihoon asks, placing a hand on Wonwoo's shoulder.

Wonwoo glances at the hand and lifts an eyebrow. "I'll try my best," he responds slowly, "but it will definitely take some time."

"Well, we're obviously not going to tackle the place tomorrow," Soonyoung states. "I'll let Baekho-hyung and Raina-noona know everything they need to know and then we can get started with prep."

"We've got an address and surface-level intel," Wonwoo sighs. "That's not a lot to work with."

"We'll improvise." Soonyoung grins. "Maybe we can go in guns blazing."

Jeonghan and Seungcheol blanch.

Jihoon looks across the table and meets Seungcheol's eye. His gaze lingers before Jihoon turns to look at Soonyoung.

"This is going to be way different than anything we've ever done before," Jihoon says. "Let's at least make a plan with Nu'Est and After School together, okay? They might know more than we do."

"Okay, okay," Soonyoung acquiesces. A wry smile warps his features as he adds, "It'd be better to guarantee that we can enjoy the money once we get our hands on it, right?"

"Definitely," Seungcheol and Jeonghan chime in at the same time. It rouses laughter around the table, but Seungcheol can feel only anxiety chewing at his insides.

 

* * *

 

'Fake it 'til you make it' might be the wisest phrase Seungcheol has ever heard in his entire life. He has a feeling it’s kept him alive past his first ever job interview—and god knows he didn’t expect it to carry him through something like this.

His first firefight is unexpected. He's not packing much, just a pistol. It's heavy, but it fits the curves of his hands well enough, even despite his trembling grip.

He's with Jihoon—when isn't he with Jihoon nowadays? He's pretty much Seungcheol's keeper at this point—when it happens. 

"Get down!" Jihoon hollers, ripping Seungcheol out of their assailant's line of sight and into a nearby alley. It's just barely enough: Seungcheol's hair moves in the wake of a bullet firing past him. A few more shots spray the ground next to him.

His back plastered against the wall, Seungcheol finds himself frozen. Jihoon is busy peering out over the building's edge, one hand slipping into the inside of his oversized jacket.

"Seungcheol," Jihoon snaps. His voice penetrates the confines of Seungcheol's skull, but it's not enough to restore the connection between his brain and his body.

Jihoon's eyes are sharp as they cut to Seungcheol's face, but Jihoon doesn't say anything else. He pulls out his handgun and looks down the sight, seeking out his target.

A few seconds pass. Jihoon hasn't shot anything yet. A harsh and uneven sound buffets Seungcheol's ears, and it takes a while for him to realize that it's his own breathing.

His mind is racing, his heart his beating a mile a minute, and his hands are shaking, but he manages to reach into his hip holster to pull out his gun.

"Check the roofs," Jihoon whispers. He's still looking out onto the street level with his gun raised.

Seungcheol takes a step closer to Jihoon. It's the most he's moved in the past five minutes, but Jihoon doesn't spare him a glance.

He lifts his gaze up to the rooftops. There isn't much cover there, save for a few air vents. Steam billows from the nearest building in grey wisps—until an arm cuts through it.

Instinctively, Seungcheol throws up his arms to shield his face. Both come up in a V-shape, still clutching his weapon in a vice grip, and the movement is twitchy enough to counter the movement opposite to him.

The person on the other side hesitates. It's probably hard to see through the steam.

Seungcheol takes a deep breath and fires. His entire body seems to quake as the gun's mechanism works in the blink of an eye. 

The arm peeking through the steam disappears when Seungcheol's shot connects; Seungcheol was aiming for only what he could see, but he missed anyway, hitting whatever mass was behind the steam.

The anonymous shooter stumbles out of cover and Jihoon takes care of it from there.

In seconds, there's a hand on Seungcheol’s arm, fingers curled tightly into his bicep.

"Seungcheol," Jihoon hisses. "Seungcheol, are you okay?"

The pin points of Jihoon's fingertips are a sharp burn in the tense muscle of Seungcheol's arm. Seungcheol leans into the grip.

"I'm fine," Seungcheol croaks.

Jihoon looks up at him and meets his eye. Seungcheol feels bare in that moment, fit to fall apart under a gust of breath. 

Jihoon only nods. He uses his free hand to wiggle the gun out of Seungcheol's grip and replace it into his holster.

Both hands on Seungcheol now, Jihoon pins him to the wall. His arms keep their bodies apart,  thin and tense borders boxing Seungcheol in, and his eyes drill holes into Seungcheol as he stands on the edge of breaking down.

"Listen," Jihoon says lowly, his voice a rough scrape against Seungcheol's throat and the insides of his ears, "there might be more guys out there. We weren't exactly being discreet. I don't want to draw too much attention by running to the car, so."

Jihoon trails off. His grip loosens around Seungcheol's arms, but it takes him another few seconds before he lets one of them go in favour of fishing through his pockets.

Seungcheol's other arm is freed as Jihoon grabs one of Seungcheol's hands. He presses a set of car keys into Seungcheol's palm.

"Get to the car and drive it over here. I'll provide cover just in case, okay?" he finishes.

Seungcheol nods. His head feels like it's about to shake loose from its axis and fall off his shoulders.

Jihoon claps him on the back before gently nudging him towards the street.

They make it out of there unscathed and Seungcheol is glad for it beyond having his life intact. He managed to shoot someone and not throw up; that's a huge victory for him.

 

* * *

 

Nowadays, Seungcheol can't afford sleepy Sunday mornings. He still feels groggy when the sun shines through his eyelids, but he's wide awake when he hears Jihoon calling for him.

Jihoon's at the tiny kitchen table with Soonyoung at his side. There's toast and butter on the table, crumbs everywhere, and the scent of coffee thick in the air. The sink maintains its usual drip.

"Seungcheol," Jihoon calls again. He glances over at Seungcheol and waves to the empty seat next to him when their gazes meet.

There's a plate of toast and a butter knife at the indicated seat. A mug of coffee sits next to it, still steaming.

Seungcheol suppresses a yawn as he sits down. His limbs feel heavy; he feels tired down to the bone; his frame feels hollow and leaden all at once. It's all a little much to process first thing in the morning, and he hopes coffee will drown out the concoction of sensation.

Soonyoung slides over a jar of peanut butter in his direction, topped off with a smile.

"I know it's a little early for this," Jihoon starts, an apology woven under the surface of his words, "but Wonwoo sent me some intel at an ungodly hour last night and I didn't think it could wait."

Seungcheol spreads some peanut butter onto his bread and grunts in acknowledgement.

"We got some numbers and some names," Jihoon continues.

"Could've been worse, in my humble opinion," Soonyoung comments.

Jihoon nods. "Doyoung's sudden... departure left his lackeys scrambling. The casino's usual security should be up and running, but any personal additions he might have had haven't checked into work since he left. I have a feeling people would have tried stealing from the vault if it weren't for the locks."

Seungcheol looks up from behind his coffee mug. "It's gotta be some three-tier, electromagnetic, super hacker-repellent thing, right?" he asks.

Jihoon snorts. "Probably," Jihoon says with a shrug. "Wonwoo didn't really say anything about it. He said 'leave that up to me'—which probably includes the rest of the IT crew that've banded together between Nu'Est and After School's intelligence specialists."

"So what does that leave us with?" Seungcheol asks.

"The casino's normal security isn't something we can ignore," Jihoon replies. "Some of them can probably be bought, though."

"We should be prepared in case there are some stragglers attempting the locks," Soonyoung adds. "Some of the names definitely pinged my radar—only names, though. Don't know any of them personally."

Seungcheol puts down his coffee mug and nods. "You're right," he says. "It is definitely early for this."

"Well," Jihoon says, his tone quiet and careful and soft, somehow, "I think this has moved from 'suicide mission' to 'high-risk gamble'."

"Which is appropriate, considering it's a casino!" Soonyoung pipes in.

Seungcheol manages a weak smile.

"Honestly," Jihoon continues, "you might not even have to come. Nu'Est and After School are experienced; with them on our side, we might have just enough manpower to do this."

Coffee hits the bottom of Seungcheol's stomach with a heavy thud.

"After all you've done for me, I couldn't just—" he starts in a rush, almost compelled to stand up. But then he stops, guts settling, and his shoulders wilt. "Unless I'd just be a burden..."

Soonyoung and Jihoon exchange looks. When Jihoon returns his eyes to Seungcheol's face, his gaze is heavy and contemplative. 

Nothing about Jihoon is lightweight, Seungcheol has found. Or maybe he's just too deeply steeped in this weighty situation and Seungcheol can't separate him from it—and why should he?

He knows Jihoon is human in there. Seungcheol wants to pay him back somehow, give back for all Jihoon's given him, but Seungcheol wouldn't even know where to begin. A connection would help, a real human connection, but Seungcheol's finding their relationship wrought with rifts he can't bridge.

Maybe finishing this will give them a clean slate where he can start. Or maybe Jihoon will just boot him back out onto the street and forget he even existed—Seungcheol isn't sure which outcome he prefers.

"You might not be great in a firefight," Jihoon begins, "but you might be good for appearances. If we make it look like you're who everyone thinks you are—"

"Donyoung's successor?" Seungcheol guesses.

Jihoon nods. "Yeah. Then people might help us out—"

"Or try harder to kill us. Either way, it might open a few doors," Soonyoung cuts in, nodding to himself. He looks at Jihoon. "I see what you mean."

Jihoon looks away, keeping his eyes down and averted from both Soonyoung and Seungcheol's gazes. "It's entirely up to you," he says in the end. His eyes lift to look at Seungcheol. "You might think we're doing you a service or something—but we profit from this, too. This isn't just Dongyoung's money: it's EXO's, too. Taking this from them gives us a leg up. In fact, we won't even know how much it is until we get there."

"We've been trying to keep quiet," Soonyoung adds, "but so could a bunch of other dudes trying to get this money. We only have so many heads between us, so any advantage we can get is worth it. But your life—an innocent one, especially—isn't worth throwing away just for that."

Sighing, Seungcheol plants both elbows on the table. He dumps his face into his hands and digs his fingers into his hair.

"Let me think about it," Seungcheol mumbles.

"Of course," Jihoon replies. He puts a heavy hand on Seungcheol's shoulder. Something about the heat of his palm is comforting, down in Seungcheol's heart of hearts, but Seungcheol can't even begin to place the feeling.


	11. INTERMISSION 1.4

That one encounter remains as Seungcheol's only real-life shooting experience when the heist approaches.

"Here's the plan," Seungcheol remembers Jihoon saying from his perch at the head of the table. "First, we need to travel. We can spend that night scouting. Seungcheol and Jeonghan can stay behind, since we’ll be camping out at a nearby hotel. It’s not far, though our Nu'Est hyungs already volunteered to drive and manage the vans."

Minhyun waves from the living room couch. It's been turned to face the kitchen table, crammed with three other members of Nu'Est. Their leader, JR, sits at the table with Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Jihoon, Soonyoung, Jisoo, and Wonwoo. Some of them are sitting on empty boxes or bags of rice since there aren’t enough chairs to go around.

“It’s a little too early in the game to test how your shooting practice has been going if we don’t need to,” Soonyoung adds lightly, addressing Seungcheol and Jeonghan. He receives silent nods of agreement.

“We have blueprints of the casino and a security schedule, but we don’t actually know where the guards are stationed.” Jihoon gestures to a whiteboard next to him and continues, “We can go through the place as, you know, customers or something.”

“We’ve got money to gamble with now,” Wonwoo says with a wry smile.

Soonyoung's eyes widen. "Wait," he says, "does this mean we get to have a shopping montage where we buy sleek suits? Can I get some cool sunglasses?"

Jihoon doesn't flinch as the volume of Soonyoung's voice rises. When Soonyoung stops speaking, Jihoon sighs. Then he breaks into a smug smile.

"Firstly, please don't wear glasses at night or indoors," Jihoon replies, "and secondly, yes, this means we get to have a shopping montage where we buy sleek suits."

"Hell yeah!" Soonyoung cries. He turns to Jeonghan and holds out a hand. For a second, Jeonghan simply looks at him, confused, but then Jisoo reaches over Jeonghan's shoulder and gives Soonyoung a high five. Jeonghan huffs a breathy laugh before giving Soonyoung a high five as well.

Jihoon clears his throat before he gestures at the white board again. "Anyway," he continues, the hint of a smile lingering on his lips, "uh—where was I?"

"Scouting the casino," Seungcheol supplies.

"Ah. Yes. As I was saying," Jihoon says, "we can check out the place as customers. I've talked to some of the people inside, but it won't hurt to double check."

"So does that mean we'll be going in the next night?" Jeonghan asks.

Curling his mouth into an uncertain expression, Jihoon waves his hand vaguely at the whiteboard. "Yeah. I don't know about night—we were thinking something like late afternoon or evening, like before the place opens and gets busy but not too early in the day to attract attention."

Jeonghan looks two inches away from rolling his eyes. "Okay, but I meant, like, we're going to go in with weapons after you guys go scouting, right?" As soon as he closes his mouth, Jeonghan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Okay, never mind. I heard it myself; just ignore me."

Soonyoung claps a hand over Jeonghan's shoulder and says, "Don't sweat it. We'll tell you what to do when you need to do it, okay?"

Sighing, Jeonghan sends Jihoon a pitiful look. "Can we at least come with you guys for the shopping montage?"

"Of course," Jihoon replies. "We've all been busy doing work-related things for the past—I don't know, weeks? You guys oughta do some normal people stuff for once."

Jeonghan sits up a little straighter. He nods before casting a glance in Seungcheol's direction.

It's true: the most "normal" thing they've done is get take-out from that diner down the street every Friday. Seungcheol is half-convinced that the staff know him already.

A break might just be what he needs to keep his sanity in check.

 

* * *

 

They go to the high-brow part of town—you know, the couple streets lined with shining glass panes and the shop signs written in elegant and simple black and white font. These are the parts frequented by people in suits and crisp ties; their group sticks out like a sore thumb dressed in their rough jeans and wrinkled dress shirts.

“Do I look like the kinda guy to own an iron?” Soonyoung snapped when asked about it.

Jihoon's contribution was to smack Soonyoung upside the head and add, "he left it on overnight once and nearly burned the place down. He threw it out and now relies on shower steam and his sweaty hands to deal with wrinkles."

Wearing a completely slack expression, Soonyoung rounded on Jihoon and whined, “Why must you expose me like this!”

It’s almost  _ too _ simple an affair, but the process of approving or rejecting articles of clothing occupies Seungcheol’s head enough that he manages to lose track of time. Jeonghan has a certain flair that dazzles everyone; even Seungcheol gets caught up in the whirlwind that is Jeonghan flipping his long dark hair over his shoulder.

“I don’t know about staying on the downlow with you looking like that,” Jihoon comments. There’s a faint smirk on his face as his eyes track up and down Jeonghan’s body.

Frowning, Jisoo marches up to Jeonghan. He picks at some seams on Jeonghan’s shirt, straightens the line of buttons down Jeonghan’s chest, and leaves a hand hanging by his thumb in one of Jeonghan’s belt loops.

It looks protective, almost. And maybe another word that starts with “p” that Seungcheol isn’t sure is safe to use.

“I think he’ll make a great distraction,” Jisoo declares after a moment of quiet. He turns on his heel but keeps Jeonghan close, holding him by the hip. “Security can’t pay attention to you guys if they’re busy being charmed by this guy.”

Jeonghan has the decency to blush.

Soonyoung nods. “Yeah, I think him and Minki-hyung could probably do a  _ lot _ of damage,” he agrees. “I mean—Ren, resident Nu’Est pretty boy.”

“He’s pretty capable, too. You’d be in good hands if you stayed close to him, Jeonghan,” Jihoon  agrees.

Jisoo turns around to look at Jeonghan. His expression disappears with the action, and Seungcheol doesn’t feel inclined to peer any further. Whatever approving look Jihoon had before has disappeared as well; the price tags on their selected items has distracted him for now.

Seungcheol decides not to think much about it. He has to cherish the remaining moments of near-mindless shopping that he has left.

They take the Jeonghan-distraction-thing to the next level: they buy him hair dye and makeup. He has a lower-profile bounty than Seungcheol, but he’s still wanted. Hopefully the minimal disguise will be enough.

When Ren sees Jeonghan later, he approves of the plan wholeheartedly.

“Heads will turn so fast they’ll snap their necks!” he exclaims with glee. “I’ll take good care of you, Jeonghannie.”

They begin to discuss makeup as they head to their assigned vehicle. Jisoo follows along carefully.

Everyone else seems sleek and clean enough in their new suits that Seungcheol doesn’t think they’ll attract any unwanted attention. Soonyoung didn’t buy any sunglasses, but he got a brimmed hat that he claims is in the same area of cool. Neither Seungcheol nor Jihoon ask questions.

There are three vans sitting in a line out on the street. To outsiders, it might look like a collection of families heading out on a trip together, though the tinted windows might throw off that assumption upon closer inspection.

Not unlike a loyal puppy, Seungcheol follows on Jihoon’s heels into the last vehicle.

Baekho sits behind the wheel as Jihoon and Seungcheol pile into the backseat. Other Nu’Est and After School members fill up the rest of the car, but the backseat is completely empty. Jihoon slides to the end and Seungcheol stays near the door.

Seungcheol eyes Jihoon’s hand sitting between the empty space between them. His gaze slides up Jihoon’s arm past the heavy watch sitting on his wrist, up the lines of his black blazer, and over to the hint of collarbones peeking out from under his shirt, its first three buttons sitting undone.

He looks good. Clean, professional. Probable clientele for this casino.

Jihoon glances over and when their eyes meet, he offers a little smile.

Somehow, Seungcheol manages to smile back.

 

* * *

 

They set up at a nearby hotel. It’s right on the edge of the seedy part of town that houses the casino, so the other patrons they pass have a certain aura about them. Seungcheol can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched, scrutinized, but he’s probably just being paranoid.

Right?

His stomach hardens to lead as they ride the elevator up to their rooms. Nu’Est and After School are staying together in separate rooms on separate floors while Jihoon, Soonyoung, Wonwoo, Jisoo, Jeonghan, and Seungcheol have split three rooms adjacent to each other.

“You’re gonna have to tone down the annoyingness or else I’m gonna lead you to your death tomorrow,” Wonwoo warns Soonyoung.

“Just mine or—” Soonyoung starts, already looking towards his companions in the elevator, but Wonwoo cuts him off quickly.

“Just yours. Don’t even think about dragging the others into this.” Wonwoo’s glasses glint in the stark elevator light. “You know I have my ways.”

“Let him live, Wonwoo,” Jihoon says tonelessly.

“Give me a convincing argument and I might,” he retorts.

“If you try to separate Soonyoung from his annoying personality, he’ll probably die,” Jihoon replies without missing a beat. “And we need him for the heist. Try it after we get the money.”

Jisoo snorts into his hand. The elevator dings as it ascends.

“Okay, fine,” Wonwoo sighs after a while.

The elevator doors open and Soonyoung immediately starts whining. He gestures and flails and complains as he follows Wonwoo into their shared room.

Seungcheol looks over at Jihoon. He’s got a pack slung over his back and he’s rolled up his sleeves; he oozes casual and relaxed and, god, Seungcheol wishes he could have even a millilitre of that cool.

Jihoon glances over at Seungcheol. “Come on, let’s put our stuff away,” he says gently.

Seungcheol nods wordlessly and follows Jihoon to their room.

There are two single beds and a bathroom. Jihoon drops his pack off by the foot of the bed closest to the door before he wanders off to the mini-fridge.

“Want a drink?” Jihoon asks. He crouches in front of the glass display. “They’ve got those cute little sample bottles.”

“Yeah, for the price of a full-sized thing,” Seungcheol mutters in reply. He has one hand stuffed into a pocket and the other pulling open the curtains ever so slightly. “No thanks.”

“Come on,” Jihoon urges him. “Dongyoung’s paying for it.” He pauses. Seungcheol turns to face him and the smirk that was on Jihoon’s face softens as he adds, “you just seem a little on edge is all.”

From the other side of the room, Seungcheol tenses.

“See?” Jihoon says. HIs voice seems to echo in the room, bouncing around with the dim, yellow light coming from the lamp between the two beds.

Jihoon turns around again. “There’s some soju in here and—oh, it’s flavoured. That’s cute.” He pulls out a green bottle and sets it on the nearest surface. “It’s peach,” he states as he pulls out another bottle.

It’s a tiny thing of… Grey Goose vodka.

“That’s not for me, is it?” Seungcheol asks around a disbelieving laugh.

Jihoon turns and pops open the green bottle. That’s the soju, Seungcheol supposes.

Jihoon raises his eyebrows as he takes a draw from his drink. Seungcheol watches Jihoon’s throat work all the while.

“It is for me, then,” Seungcheol murmurs.

Nodding, Jihoon gestures at the bottle.

Seungcheol crosses the room. He sizes up the tiny bottle from a distance before Jihoon slides it towards him. After taking a deep breath, Seungcheol lifts it off the counter.

"Cheers," Jihoon says quietly—a little too quietly considering the meaning of the word and the gesture, but Seungcheol reaches out and meets Jihoon's bottle halfway anyway. The glass makes a little clink upon contact.

Throwing back a sip of vodka from a novelty bottle isn't too different from taking a shot, turns out.

The air between them settles, albeit fractionally. Jihoon leans back against the counter as he takes sips from his green bottle.

"It's appropriate to drink before an outing, right?" Jihoon asks. It's a rhetorical question, and the wry smile that curves his lips really suits him, Seungcheol thinks.

"I believe it's called 'pre-drinking'," Seungcheol replies with a slight chuckle.

The smile on Jihoon's face curls further on the edges, coaxing out his dimples.

"Here's to tomorrow's success," Jihoon says. He holds out his drink again.

Seungcheol huffs a disbelieving laugh before tapping his bottle to Jihoon's again.

 

* * *

 

Hours pass and Seungcheol doesn’t think he can handle being alone. Jihoon didn’t tell him he couldn’t leave the room, and it’s not like Seungcheol felt any inclination to take a walk out on the town, but his mind was starting to throw rocks in the glass house that’s his brain.

It doesn’t take long for Seungcheol to find Jeonghan and Jisoo’s room. It does, however, take a while for them to undo the locks after Seungcheol knocks and feels their eyes on him through the peephole.

On one hand, the audible evidence of their fear sends a soothing feeling of solidarity through Seungcheol, but on the other hand, it acts as a tangible reminder of the too-real circumstances they’re facing.

At least they’re facing them together.

Someone grabs Seungcheol’s arm and he’s yanked into the room. The locks start clicking again as they’re put back in place.

The hand on Seungcheol’s arm doesn’t let up even when the locks still. Seungcheol looks up and meets Jeonghan’s eyes. 

“Well,” Jeonghan says, a shaky laugh on his tongue, “here we are at the end, friend.”

Seungcheol managed a twisted smile. They did start all this with each other—he supposes that it’s only right that they finish it together. Being separated at this point would have meant some form of failure, and Seungcheol doesn’t even want to begin to think about that. 

Jisoo finds Seungcheol’s other hand. It’s a little weird, this casual familiarity, but it grounds Seungcheol at the same time. 

They’re  _ all  _ in this together. The three of them, three people who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, can at least share this nightmare together. 

The three of them find seats on the bed. It’s not long before Jeonghan huffs a big sigh and sinks onto his back, and then all three of them are lying on this single bed and staring up at the stark white ceiling. 

“So,” Seungcheol says. 

“So,” Jisoo echoes. 

They giggle a little. 

Seungcheol turns to Jisoo and squeezes his hand. 

“You know, we never got a chance to really introduce ourselves,” Seungcheol comments. 

Jisoo snorts. “Is now really the time?” he asks. 

Jeonghan reaches over Seungcheol to prod at Jisoo’s shoulder. 

“He’s just shy because he thinks his Korean’s a little rusty,” Jeonghan butts in, teasing. “He’s a chatterbox once he gets over himself.”

A tiny bit of pink settles into Jisoo’s cheeks. He glances away for a bit, but once he does meet Seungcheol’s eyes again, there’s a new vigour there, some determination. 

Seungcheol figures that’s what’s kept Jisoo through everything all this time. 

Jisoo tells him about L.A. and about his family. He doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, and he gives a brief blurb about how he’s glad about that, all things considered. But he doesn’t linger on that; he mentions his little apartment in the financial sector of Busan and how the proximity of the sea reminded him of home. He talks about how he’d been saving up for a cat or a new guitar, ideally both, and how Korean food is ten times better over here than it is in L.A. 

“But nothing beats my mom’s cooking,” he clarifies. 

Jeonghan jumps in every now and then to elaborate on a detail or tell a humorous anecdote. It’s nice. It feels like hanging out with friends—and maybe that’s what they are now.

That’s what they will be after this is all said and done, that’s for sure. If they make it out, that is.

Hours pass as they exchange bits and pieces of themselves. There’s no shame or fear of rejection there in that room; in fact, there’s a sense of urgency, struggling under the breaths containing their words, like they need to share this information before it stops existing.

It’s frightening and comforting all at once. It makes Seungcheol anticipate the end of this, for once and for all.

His wish comes one step closer to coming true when a knock sounds at the door.

The three on the bed exchange looks. They sit up together, but it’s Jeonghan who wanders over to the peephole to verify their visitor.

“It’s Jihoon,” Jeonghan states as he starts on the locks.

Jisoo looks over at Seungcheol and smiles a small, secretive smile. Seungcheol looks from Jisoo’s mouth up to his eyes and then at the door in a matter of seconds; he’s gonna choose not to linger on that right now.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon calls once the door opens. He strides in and goes straight for Seungcheol’s wrist, pulling him up and onto his feet with ease.

“We’re done scouting and we’re going over the plan in our room,” Jihoon calls over his shoulder. “Come on.”

Seungcheol can smell more alcohol on Jihoon’s breath as he’s tugged along, but Jihoon seems to be walking in a straight line. There’s purpose in his stride; Seungcheol can feel it distinctly in the grip around his wrist.

Jisoo and Jeonghan carefully file into Seungcheol’s room. Soonyoung, Wonwoo, and the rest of the crew have already piled inside, sitting on the floor. The white board makes another appearance.

“Alright, guys, listen up,” Jihoon says with a firm and commanding tone of voice, standing at the front of the room next to the whiteboard. His feet are spread shoulder-length width apart and his hands lie folded over his pelvis; his body is a collection of hard edges and strong lines and Seungcheol can’t decide on what to focus his attention on first.

“As expected, the vault is going to give us the most trouble. Wonwoo and Jisoo are going to be tackling that while the rest of us serve as distractions,” Jihoon continues.

Jisoo’s eyebrows rise. “Me?” he asks.

One of the women from After School speaks up. “I’d be a better candidate to help with tech stuff, but I’m also a better shot,” says Lizzy. “But the vault lock looks like it’ll take patience and timing rather than technical skill alone, so we decided I’d be better help out on the field.”

“We’re going right after the place closes tomorrow, when people are gonna be tired and minimal civilians will be around,” JR adds. “We managed to bribe some guards to clock out early, but we also found some, you know—diehards. Tryhards?”

Jihoon shrugs, wearing a wry smile. “I dunno. Let’s just say they’re loyal to Dongyoung and want to make sure everything’s locked up tight.”

“There are a couple of switches that send out backup signals to their friends,” Jihoon continues. “We couldn’t find any of them, but it was a good tip to know anyway. This isn’t the first assault on the vault since Dongyoung went absent, so guards are always on edge.”

“We just need to keep them busy long enough to crack the safe and we’re good to go,” Soonyoung says in summary.

“You make it sound easy when you put it like that,” Jeonghan says. His expression stays calm as he speaks, but his throat seems fitted around his words, strained. “But what about—what about me and Seungcheol?”

Jihoon’s face darkens a shade or two. He inclines his head towards the floor for a couple seconds. After a few breaths pass, and JR and Soonyoung look as if they’ll start speaking, Jihoon says, “well—turns out people have known you were with us for a long time now.”

Seungcheol’s heart picks up the pace.

“The main thing that’s been keeping them from going after you again is the fact that Dongyoung hasn’t been answering calls,” Jihoon explains. “There’s no point in risking it if there’s no guaranteed payout, right?”

“Plus, we made it clear that we’re friends,” Baekho adds. 

Seungcheol shoots his gaze over to Baekho, and he takes that as his cue to clarify what he means.

“Listen—our Jihoonie and Soonyoungie are like brothers to us, you know?” Baekho says. “You mess with them, you mess with us.”

Seungcheol has no idea about how capable Nu’Est are with guns or the like, so he decides not to press the issue any further.

“It’s—gotten close a few times,” Soonyoung admits after a while, “but that’s not the issue here.” He seems adamant about that, so despite Seungcheol’s quickly multiplying questions, he remains quiet. “You guys will be coming with us and acting as distractions. Things don’t need to be violent unless we’re pulled into action, right?”

“Whether or not they recognize you right away might turn things on their heads,” Jihoon says, “as well as whether or not they want to try and take you in because of said recognizing. So. We’ll have to play it by ear.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Seungcheol says with a breathy laugh.

His words must not come off as humorous when they come alive into the room. They enter like an unwanted creature, lumbering around with awkward steps, and everyone falls silent.

“Well,” Jihoon says. His voice cracks. He clears his throat and tries again: “Well—if you really don’t think you can go out there with us, you don’t have to.”

Seungcheol looks around the room. Everyone avoids his gaze; for every eyelash Seungcheol’s eyes pass, he feels the weight on his shoulders grow and grow and grow.

“I was joking,” Seungcheol says. It feels like he’s shouting in the grand quiet of the room.

Jisoo coughs. Jeonghan gives a few dry laughs and Soonyoung heaves a great big sigh.

“Of—Of course,” Jihoon replies after a couple seconds, fighting to maintain the crooked smile on his lips. “Of course you were. I knew that.”

The next few moments pass in a crystal clear blur. Seungcheol memorizes a couple hand signals and a couple code words. He follows Jihoon’s hands as they gesture wildly at the whiteboard. He absorbs the words from his cohorts as best as he can.

When he walks out of there, his head is a sharp, pounding mess. Yet again, he finds himself following on Jihoon’s heels into their shared room. It’s routine at this point, but some part of him feels like he’s heading to the gallows.

Sighing, Jihoon sets down a bag by the foot of his bed. He whips off his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. His feet are heavy as he shuffles throughout the room, stripping down as he moves, preparing for sleep.

Seungcheol stands at the foot of his own bed and stares at the bedside lamp.

Jihoon has a toothbrush in his mouth and a pair of pyjama bottoms cinched above his hips when he waves a hand in Seungcheol’s general direction.

“You doing okay?” he asks, white foam decorating his lips.

Seungcheol looks up at him and holds Jihoon’s gaze for a second. He doesn’t answer. Jihoon wanders off to spit and rinse.

He’s wiping the back of his hand when he takes measured steps to approach Seungcheol. The sound of his bare feet hitting the carpeted floor is muted, but it echoes for miles and miles in the expanse of Seungcheol’s brain.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon says gently, “what’s going on?”

Seungcheol meets Jihoon’s eyes. They’re unwavering, and the slant and curve and depth of them is familiar to Seungcheol now, and normally that’d be comforting, somehow, because Jihoon managed to become an anchor in Seungcheol’s life after it was tipped upside down and shaken for good measure, but right now Jihoon represents the very threat Seungcheol’s been running from all this time.

“I’m going to die,” Seungcheol says very, very slowly. “I’m going to die, and it’s not even my fault.”

Jihoon’s face falls slack. He doesn’t say a single thing.

Seungcheol takes a shaky breath before continuing: “I’m going to get shot at simply because someone I barely knew thought it’d be a good idea to put my life on the line instead of his.”

Seungcheol’s hands shoot out to grab Jihoon’s shoulders. They seem to have a life of their own: they seem to have found new strength, a strength Seungcheol forgot he had, as they tear holes into Jihoon’s body.

“Jihoon!” Seungcheol cries. “I’m gonna die! I’m gonna get a bullet to my goddamn heart! Or maybe my brain, or my fucking lungs, or my gut! Who knows! All I know is that I’m gonna die, and it’s gonna be fucking painful, and it won’t even be my goddamn fault!”

The contact flips a switch in Jihoon’s head and he wrenches Seungcheol’s hands from his shoulders. It’s not enough: Seungcheol whips his arms out of Jihoon’s grip and he goes for Jihoon’s wrists instead. The sudden movement catches Jihoon off guard and all he can do is stare up at Seungcheol.

“Or fucking—or someone else’ll die because I fucking waltzed into your lives with nowhere to go and nothing to do! It’ll be my fault! Then it wouldn’t even be Dongyoung’s fault, you know, like—if I don’t go, then you’ll be down a guy, and down a distraction at that, and I’ll just be stuck here with my thumb up my ass and—”

The room vibrates with a  _ crack _ as Jihoon slams his fist into Seungcheol’s jaw. Seungcheol ends up stretched out on the floor, his skull a couple inches away from the furnace lining the wall.

For a few moments, the only sound in the air is the combination of Seungcheol and Jihoon’s heavy breathing. Jihoon shakes out his hand and some of the bones in his hand crack.

It takes Seungcheol a few tries, but he manages to sit up, leaning heavily against the furnace. There’s blood in his mouth, and he can already feel his face starting to swell.

Seungcheol looks up and meets Jihoon’s gaze yet again. Another switch flips and then Jihoon’s on his knees, fussing over Seungcheol’s blossoming bruise, pushing hair and sweat out of Seungcheol’s face in some strangely intimate, apologetic gesture.

Seungcheol can’t think throughout the entire affair, but one of his hands finds Jihoon’s bare back and holds on.

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

Seungcheol’s other hand ends up on Jihoon’s back.

“It’s—” 

As soon as Seungcheol gets the word out, he stops. His jaw hurts; in fact, his entire head hurts. But the dull throbbing beats out any other thought in his brain, and for once, there’s nothing running around in there. It’s oddly peaceful.

“I—I’m gonna get you some ice,” Jihoon says. He sets Seungcheol back against the furnace before scuttling off to gather some ice.

When he returns, he sets his free arm around Seungcheol’s waist and pulls him upright. Jihoon is way stronger than he looks, and Seungcheol often forgets that. It’s a little disorienting, suddenly going from sitting to standing, but soon enough he’s lying back in his bed, looking up at Jihoon as he hovers over Seungcheol. He’s so close that Seungcheol can feel the heat rolling from his bare torso through his clothes, but that’s just another sensation kicked to hell by the throbbing in his face.

Jihoon presses a washcloth full of ice against Seungcheol’s cheek. It’s wet and cold, and at first Seungcheol flinches away, but Jihoon quickly grabs the back of his neck and holds him in place.

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon apologizes again after a while.

Seungcheol isn’t sure what to do with his face, so he does nothing.

“I just—I drank today, and—” Jihoon cuts himself off and sighs heavily. He averts his gaze. “Yeah, okay, that’s not an excuse. That was totally out of line. But I panicked, and I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol puts a hand on Jihoon’s thigh, and that’s enough to reel Jihoon’s attention back in. His eyes are dark and sharp and attentive, nervous and still apologetic.

Seungcheol takes a deep breath.

“It’s fine,” he says. “I was getting pretty hysterical, anyway.”

Jihoon shakes his head, dropping his gaze again. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “You seemed to be making a lot of sense to me.” Sighing, he rakes his free hand through his hair. “But—it didn’t seem like you were gonna reach a conclusion, or at least one that didn’t end up with you, I don’t know, jumping out the fucking window or something.”

Seungcheol manages a chuckle. It jostles the icepack against his cheek and he winces. Jihoon fusses a little bit more, clicking his tongue and adjusting the angle at which he’s holding his arm.

“Listen,” Jihoon says lowly, his voice aimed at Seungcheol’s general chest or stomach area, “I don’t—I can’t ever understand what it is you’re going through. It sounds scary as hell, so it’s only fair that you have a couple freakouts. In fact, I’d say you’d probably behind when it comes to those.”

Seungcheol’s stomach twitches in an aborted laugh.

“What I can understand—what I do know—is my way around a gun.” Jihoon’s tone takes a firmer turn, his words solid and weighty as they fall from his lips. “And I know I’ve got good friends here who’ll have my back, and yours, too. I can’t guarantee anything, but who can, even on a good day?”

“Don’t get philosophical on me,” Seungcheol admonishes him. Jihoon chuckles.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Jihoon continues, “that, you know—you’re in it now, yeah? You could turn back, but what’ll be there for you on the other side? If you stick with us, at least through this job, then you’ve got at least one guy—” he jabs a thumb towards his chest. “—on your side, looking out for you. And, you know—I’m here for you, one hundred percent. I’m not gonna throw you to the dogs just because I didn’t ask for you. I’m not  _ that _ much of an asshole.”

It’s similar to what he said last time Seungcheol’s fear and anxiety drove him up the wall. It’s sweet, despite everything. It’s a drop of light in the dark pit that is currently Seungcheol’s life. It’s definitely something, and Seungcheol knows he’s better off hanging onto something rather than risking whatever unknowns are waiting for him out there.

Jihoon lowers the icepack from Seungcheol’s face. Half of it has melted already, and the cloth is starting to drip dark spatters onto the bedclothes.

“How is it now?” Jihoon asks, gesturing to Seungcheol’s cheek.

Seungcheol flexes his jaw. It’s cold and slightly numb and still kinda sore. The throbbing has lessened a bit, at least.

“Better,” he says slowly.

Jihoon clicks his tongue. “Here I am, damaging the goods before we even set foot onto the scene.”

“Can’t be worse than anything I’ll face out there.”

Jihoon’s jaw tenses. “No,” he says quietly, “it better be the worst thing you’ll face at all during this—whatever this is.”

Seungcheol can’t find anything to say to that. He swallows, tasting blood again, but he’s too distracted by Jihoon’s intense expression to have many thoughts about it.

The bed creaks as Jihoon gets to his feet. He folds up the remains of the ice and palms the washcloth.

“Let’s get some rest,” Jihoon says. “We’ve still got to prep tomorrow, before everything goes down.”

In a matter of seconds, Jihoon disappears into the bathroom. Ice rattles against the ceramic sink bowl, and then water crashes against it, filling the room with white noise.

Seungcheol nearly jumps out of his skin when the cold, damp washcloth hits him in the face.

“Wash up,” Jihoon commands him. “This is no excuse to skimp on personal hygiene.”

Seungcheol laughs at that, helpless but not in an entirely bad way. Jihoon cracks a smile before his face disappears behind a shirt.

Who is Seungcheol to disagree with that? Going through his nightly routine calms his blood a little, and he’s grateful for that when he hits the bed and falls into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
